WE were returning from a trip to a country district north of Tokio, where we had joined in the dedication of a little country bath church. This Kuji church, by the way, was built by a group of thirty members, all peasant farmers, with slender incomes. They had previously worshiped in the home of one of the members, one of those tiny Japanese houses with the sliding paper partitions which can be moved to throw the whole house into one room. We rejoiced with this little company that their church by the roadside in the rice fields was dedicated free from debt. This was made possible by their own self-sacrifice, helped out by some contributions which had come from friends in America.
KOREAN SAWMILL.
On our walk to the railway as we returned, we passed through a fishing village by the open ocean, and watched the fishermen taking the fish from their nets after the night’s work. Though the day was calm and bright, a rough, high surf was rolling, making sailing dangerous.
Just then a boat attempted to put out to sea and was overturned. Two of the men reached the shore by swimming, but the third clung helplessly to the boat and was being taken out to sea, making frantic signals for help to the many on shore who were watching, but who seemed to us to be quite indifferent to his peril.
Finally the man was rescued by a boat coming in from the sea. One of our Japanese workers said: “How we ought to work for these poor souls all around us, who are drifting out into a hopeless eternity.” Indeed, we who have the light must not be indifferent to the signals of distress from perishing souls in ignorance of the way of life. We must redouble our efforts to give them help before they drift beyond our reach.
