By this time the large elm cast a lengthy shadow eastward.  The sun was well-nigh set, and it was evident to the ministers that they should have to prevail on their new acquaintance to lodge them overnight.

“Well, my dear brother,” remarked one of the ministers, “we are far apart in faith, but I trust we are all honest in our views and I pray that God may lead us all in the way we should go.  The day is gone, and to get out of these hills tonight is unthinkable.  I wonder if you could arrange to keep us overnight, Mr. Benton—­I believe that’s the name?  If you will, we shall be a hundred times obliged and shall be glad to pay you whatever you suggest.”

Jake was big hearted, if he was a sinner.  “Sure, I’ll keep ye, think I’d turn anybody out in these woods at night?  Not me.  I’ve kept preachers all my life, but I confess I never kept sanctified ones before.”

The three men went up the hill to Jake’s cabin, and the two ministers busied themselves writing letters while Jake prepared the evening meal from his scant pantry.  When they had gathered around the large goods-box that served as a dining-table, one of the preachers thanked God for the food and asked his blessings upon it.  When the evening meal was finished, the three men sat in front of Jake’s cabin until a late hour.  The preachers expounded the Scriptures to poor, ignorant Jake and told him of the wonders of God’s grace.  Finally, when the big silvery moon stood in mid-heaven and the sound of cow-bells on the hill had died away, Jake suggested that they retire for the night.  By the light of the moon one of the ministers read his Bible.  It so happened that he opened it at the 12th chapter of Hebrews.  These words as they fell from this man’s pious lips affected Jake deeply.  He surely had read that same chapter himself many times, and doubtless during the twenty-seven years he had been a member of Mount Olivet Church he had heard his pastor read it.  But there was one verse that sank right to the center of Jake’s heart.  It was the 14th:  “Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord.”  Jake had always had a hope in his breast that he should some day see the Lord.  He had had more than his allotted share of troubles in life, and deep in his heart he had a longing to go where “the wicked cease from troubling and the weary be at rest.”

Soon all was silence in the cabin attic, where the three men lay.  The restless surgings of man’s inner soul are invisible to all eyes, save God’s, and silence is not always a proof that everyone is asleep.  Jake lay on a bag of dried leaves, having given his own bunk to his guests.  But his eyes refused to sleep.  The music of the katydids had lost its power to soothe his troubled breast and bring him sweet repose.  His mind took a voyage over the past.  Memory, according to her wonted ways carried him again to his mother’s knee.  He recalled the sound of her voice as she sang, “When