Of what was transpiring around him, David seemed to be entirely unconscious and at last the fickle crowd became impatient.

“What’s de matter wid you?” said a sarcastic voice.

“Speak out!  Don’t snuffle,” exclaimed another.

“Tip us your tale,” cried a fourth.

“Go on.  Go on.  We’re waiting,” called many more.

These impatient cries at last aroused David from his waking dream, he drew his hand over his eyes, and began his story.

For a time the strange narrative produced a profound impression.  Heads drooped as if in meditation upon the mystery and meaning of life; significant glances were exchanged; tears trembled in many eyes; these torpid natures received a shock which for a moment awakened them to a new life.

But it was only for a moment.  They were incapable of the sustained effort of thought, of ambition, or of will.  Impressions made upon their souls were like those made on the soft folds of a garment by the passing touch of a hand.

To their besotted perceptions this scene was like a play in a Bowery theater, and now that the dramatic denouement had come, they lost their interest and sauntered away singly or in little groups.  In a few moments there were only three figures left in the light of the flaming torch, They were those of the lumberman, David, and Mantel, who now drew near, took his friend by the hand and pressed it with a gentle sympathy.

“Where did you come from?” asked David in surprise, as he for the first time recognized his companion.

“I have followed you all the evening,” Mantel replied.

“Then you have heard the story of this book?”

“I have, and I could not have believed it without hearing.”

“Can you spare us a little of your time?” said David, turning to the lumberman.

“I owe you all the time you wish and all the service I can render,” he replied.

“You have more than paid your debt by what you have done for me to-night, but who are you?”

“I am only another voice crying in the wilderness.”

“Is this your only business in life—­to speak to the outcast and the wretched as you did to-night?”

“This is all.”

David looked his admiration.

“How do you support yourself?” asked Mantel, to whom such a man was a phenomenon.

“We do not any of us support ourselves so much as we are supported,” he replied.

“And this life of toil and self-denial had its origin in those words I spoke in the empty lumber camp?” asked David, incredulously.

“It is not a life of self-denial, but that was its beginning.”

“It is a mystery.  I lost my faith and you found it, and now perhaps you are going to give it back again!” David said.

The lumberman turned his searching eyes kindly on Mantel’s face and said, “And how is it with thee, my friend; hast thou the peace of God?”