“Good morning, Uncle Filina.  Why are you so sad and so lonely?  Where is everybody?”

“Welcome, Palko,” gladly replied the man.  He held out his brown hand to the boy.  “If I had known you would come, I would not have sent the boys to the church.  Everywhere is the house of God.  And I suppose you are bringing the Bible, about which you spoke yesterday?”

“Yes, I do.  My father went away for a few days.  He asks you kindly if you will let me stay with your boys that I may not have to stay alone in the hut.  Will you take me?”

The beautiful eyes of the boy gazed longingly on the face of the man.

“Why, surely.  We will be only too glad if you stay with us,” answered Bacha.  “But why did your father go home?”

“He went with some wood.  He could not take it all at once.  The balance we shall put on a float, and so carry it to our destination.  Thus I could bring the Bible to show it to you.”

“Is that the one from Pastor Malina?”

“Yes, Uncle, and I esteem it very much.  There are many notes in Latin which I do not understand, and also some in Slovak.  When I look at the writing I see the pastor in front of me.  I would like to show you what he wrote the last Sunday when he became so seriously ill.  Do you have time for it, Uncle?”

“Oh, yes, my son; it is Sunday.  Just read on.”

“You will understand it better than I because you are older.  There is something very good:  ’I have missed very much; my whole life is wasted,’ began the boy, and his voice sounded so solemn, almost as if he were reading the Word of God.  ’Even though I would, I cannot improve anything.  It is too late; it is too late!  Souls passed into eternity—­it may be I did not bring salvation to them.  They never come back that I may ask them forgiveness and love them.  Oh, how glorious are the words, ‘By grace ye are saved ... it is the gift of God.’  In this holy gift I take my refuge, my holy God and Saviour.  I know that You have pardoned me and have even taken the punishment that I merited on Yourself.  I cling to Thy cross; I fall at Thy wounded feet, and thank Thee—­Oh, so thank Thee; yes, I will praise eternally Thy holy name, O Jesus!’” read Palko.

“Thus believed Pastor Malina ...” but the boy stopped because the Bacha sat with his head bowed down, and cried aloud.

“’Even if I would, I couldn’t make anything good.  It is too late.  The souls went on to accuse me,’” he repeated in his crying.  “That is what is pressing me down to the ground, and all my good life since that time doesn’t help anything ...”

The boy rested his curly head in the palms of his small hands.

“Uncle, will you not tell me what is worrying you so much?  It could not be the sin that you wanted to drown your Stephen, as Petrik told me?”

“Stephen didn’t drown.  I, when something is pressing me, confess it and feel easier at once.”