Hours and hours Fritz and I spoke of Dr. Luther and what he had done for us both — more, perhaps, for Fritz than even for me, because he had suffered more. It seems to me as if we, and thousands besides in the world, had been worshiping before an altar picture of our Savior, which we had been told was painted by a great master after a heavenly pattern. But all we could see was a grim, hard, stern countenance of one sitting on a judgment throne . . . Then suddenly we heard Dr. Luther’s voice behind us, saying, in his ringing tones — “Friends, what are you doing? That is not the right painting. These are only the boards that hide the master’s picture.”
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