Uncle Zed had left with the Bishop a written statement, not in the form of a will, wherein he told what disposition was to be made of his simple belongings.  The house, with its few well tilled acres, was to go to the ward for the use of any worthy poor whom the Bishop might designate.  Everything in the house should be at the disposal of Dorian Trent.  The books, especially, should belong to him “to have and to hold and to study.”  Such books which Dorian did not wish to keep were to be given to the ward Mutual Improvement Library.  This information the Bishop publicly imparted on the day of the funeral.

“These are the times,” said the Bishop, “when the truth comes forcibly to us all that nothing in this world matters much or counts for much in the end but good deeds, kind words, and unselfish service to others.  All else is now dross....  The mantle of Brother Zed seems to have fallen on Dorian Trent.  May he wear it faithfully and well.”

A few days after the funeral Dorian and his mother went to Uncle Zed’s vacant home.  Mrs. Trent examined the furnishings, while Dorian looked over the books.

“Is there anything here you want, mother? he asked.

“No; I think not; better leave everything, which isn’t much, for those who are to live here.  What about the books?’

“I’m going to take most of them home, for I am sure Uncle Zed would not want them to fall into unappreciating hands; but there’s no hurry about that.  We’ll just leave everything as it is for a few days.”

The next evening Dorian returned to look over again his newly-acquired treasures.  The ground was covered with snow and the night was cold.  He thought he might as well spend the evening, and be comfortable, so he made a fire in the stove.

On the small home-made desk which stood in the best-lighted corner, near to the student’s hand were his well-worn Bible, his Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants.  He opened the drawers and found them filled with papers and clippings, covering, as Dorian learned, a long period of search and collecting.  He opened again the package which he had out the evening of Uncle Zed’s death, and looked over some of the papers.  These, evidently, had been selected for Dorian’s special benefit, and so he settled himself comfortably to read them.  The very first paper was in the old man’s own hand, and was a dissertation on “Faith.” and read thus:  “Some people say that they can believe only what they can perceive with the senses.  Let us see:  The sun rises, we say.  Does it?  The earth is still.  Is it?  We hear music, we see beauty.  Does the ear hear or the eye see?  We burn our fingers.  Is the pain in our fingers?  I cut the nerves leading from the brain to these various organs, and then I neither hear nor see nor feel.”

“How can God keep in touch with us?” was answered thus:  “A ray of light coming through space from a star millions of miles away will act on a photographic plate, will eat into its sensitive surface and imprint the image of the star.  This we know, and yet we doubt if God can keep in touch with us and answer our prayers.”