Page 82 - John Anderson

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With the soul of an artist, the instincts and training of a
gentleman in the true sense of the word, he was always ready
to put his shoulder to the wheel, even if his best coat got
muddied in the attempt to help some forlorn brother or to push
on the car of progress.

The generations to come will forget the humble beginnings
of things which have grown like giant trees from tiny seeds
planted in the beach-combing, sailboat, root-grubbing days of the
past by our friend and his companions but all the same the
record of good work done is imperishable.

Some day it may be that our own feet may tread again the
old familiar paths and as we do we shall hear, not with the
outward ear, the bugle notes that used to steal across the
shining waters into OUT sanctum, our friend's salute to the
rising or setting sun. Invisible to others, he will walk with us
through the Santa Lucia orange grove and it shall be as it was
of old but now until the morn of the Hereafter it is farewell.

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