“That a’ternoon I took my ole Bible that I had n’t read much sence I growed up, an’ I went out into the woods ‘long the river, an’ ‘stid o’ fishin’ I jest sot down an’ read that hull story.  Now ye know it yerself by heart, an’ ye ’ve knowed it all yer born days, so ye can’t begin to tell how new an’ ‘stonishin’ ‘t was to me, an’ how findin’ so much fishin’ in it kinder helped me unnerstan’ an’ b’l’eve it every mite, an’ take it right hum to me to foller an’ live up to ’s long ‘s I live an’ breathe.  Did j’ever think on it, reely?  I tell ye, his r’liging ‘s a fishin’ r’liging all through.  His friends was fishin’ folks; his pulpit was a fishin’ boat, or the shore o’ the lake; he loved the ponds an’ streams; an’ when his d’sciples went out fishin’, if he did n’t go hisself with ’em, he ’d go a’ter ’em, walkin’ on the water, to cheer ’em up an’ comfort ’em.

“An’ he was allers ’round the water; for the story ’ll say, ’he come to the seashore,’ or ‘he begun to teach by the seaside,’ or agin, ‘he entered into a boat,’ an’ ‘he was in the stern o’ the boat, asleep.’

“An’ he used fish in his mir’cles.  He fed that crowd o’ folks on fish when they was hungry, bought ’em from a little chap on the shore.  I ’ve oft’n thought how dreffle tickled that boy must ‘a’ ben to have him take them fish.  Mebbe they wa’n’t nothin’ but shiners, but the fust the little feller ‘d ever ketched; an’ boys set a heap on their fust ketch.  He was dreffle good to child’en, ye know.  An’ who ’d he come to a’ter he ‘d died, an’ ris agin?  Why, he come down to the shore ‘fore daylight, an’ looked off over the pond to where his ole frien’s was a-fishin’.  Ye see they ’d gone out jest to quiet their minds an’ keep up their sperrits; ther ‘s nothin’ like fishin’ for that, ye know, an’ they ’d ben in a heap o’ trubble.  When they was settin’ up the night afore, worryin’ an’ wond’rin’ an’ s’misin’ what was goin’ ter become on ’em without their master; Peter ‘d got kinder desprit, an’ he up an’ says in his quick way, says he, ’Anyway, I ‘m goin’ a-fishin’.’  An’ they all see the sense on it,—­any fisherman would,—­an’ they says, says they, ’We ’11 go ‘long too.’  But they did n’t ketch anythin’.  I suppose they could n’t fix their minds on it, an’ everythin’ went wrong like.  But when mornin’ come creepin’ up over the mountings, fust thin’ they knowed they see him on the bank, an’ he called out to ’em to know if they’d ketched anythin’.  The water jest run down my cheeks when I heerd the min’r ster tell that, an’ it kinder makes my eyes wet every time I think on ’t.  For ’t seems ’s if it might ‘a’ ben me in that boat, who heern that v’ice I loved so dreffle well speak up agin so nat’ral from the bank there.  An’ he eat some o’ their fish!  O’ course he done it to sot their minds easy, to show ’em he wa’n’t quite a sperrit yit, but jest their own ole frien’ who ’d ben out in the boat with ’em so many, many times.  But seems to me, jest the fac’