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4 Not so very different was the ark from an Atlantic steamer, for both floated on the same unstable element. Noah looked as long and as eagerly for land as a sail- or in the tops. When the pilot-raven was sent out and came not back, Noah took it as a good sign. Land was near, yet not near enough for the pink toes of a dainty dove. After the messenger dove’s second flight, a letter came from God addressed to Noah. It was not written with pen, nor with ink on paper. It was an olive leaf, glossy green on one side, silvery gray on the other. Noah examined it as eagerly as we look for our friend’s handwriting. Yes, it was a live leaf, not a dead one of last year before the flood. Fresh as a postage-stamp cancelled yesterday, it told the story of time. It was “pluckt off,” the message read, in God’s own words: “Go forth out of the ark, thou, and thy wife, and thy sons, and thy sons’ wives with thee.” How glad Father Noah and all the

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