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- Джек Лондон
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"
Listen
to
the
youngster
,
"
my
father
chuckled
.
"
You
'd
think
he
'd
ben
there
.
"
I
nodded
my
head
,
for
in
that
moment
I
knew
I
had
been
there
,
though
all
seemed
strangely
different
.
My
father
laughed
the
harder
,
but
the
missionary
thought
I
was
making
game
of
him
.
He
handed
me
another
photograph
.
It
was
just
a
bleak
waste
of
a
landscape
,
barren
of
trees
and
vegetation
,
a
shallow
canyon
with
easy-sloping
walls
of
rubble
.
In
the
middle
distance
was
a
cluster
of
wretched
,
flat-roofed
hovels
.
"
Now
,
my
boy
,
where
is
that
?
"
the
missionary
quizzed
.
And
the
name
came
to
me
!
"
Samaria
,
"
I
said
instantly
.
My
father
clapped
his
hands
with
glee
,
my
mother
was
perplexed
at
my
antic
conduct
,
while
the
missionary
evinced
irritation
.
"
The
boy
is
right
,
"
he
said
.
"
It
is
a
village
in
Samaria
.
I
passed
through
it
.
That
is
why
I
bought
it
.
And
it
goes
to
show
that
the
boy
has
seen
similar
photographs
before
.
"
This
my
father
and
mother
denied
.
"
But
it
's
different
in
the
picture
,
"
I
volunteered
,
while
all
the
time
my
memory
was
busy
reconstructing
the
photograph
.
The
general
trend
of
the
landscape
and
the
line
of
the
distant
hills
were
the
same
.
The
differences
I
noted
aloud
and
pointed
out
with
my
finger
.
"
The
houses
was
about
right
here
,
and
there
was
more
trees
,
lots
of
trees
,
and
lots
of
grass
,
and
lots
of
goats
.
I
can
see
'em
now
,
an
'
two
boys
drivin
'
'em
.
An
'
right
here
is
a
lot
of
men
walkin
'
behind
one
man
.
An
'
over
there
"
--
I
pointed
to
where
I
had
placed
my
village
--
"
is
a
lot
of
tramps
.
They
ai
n't
got
nothin
'
on
exceptin
'
rags
.
An
'
they
're
sick
.
Their
faces
,
an
'
hands
,
an
'
legs
is
all
sores
.
"
