“Mr. Allan Delcher Linford.”

The second paper, which the old man now held long before him, was partly printed and partly written with a lead-pencil, whose mark was now faint and now heavy, as having gone at intervals to the writer’s lips.  As the old man read, his face lost not a little of its grimness.

“BEARS

“It teaches the lord thy God is baldheaded.  I ask my deer father what it teeches he said it teeches who ever wrot that storry was baldheaded.  He says a man with thik long hair like my deer father would of said o let the kids have their fun with old Elisha so I ask my deer mother who wrot this lesson she said God wrot the holy word so that is how we know God is baldheaded.  It was a lot of children for only two 2 bears.  I liked to of ben there if the bears wold of known that I was a good child. mabe I cold of ben on a high fense or up a tree.  I climd the sor aple tree in our back yard esy.

“By Bernal Linford, aged neerly 8 yrs.”

Carefully he put back both papers with the mother’s letter, his dark face showing all its intricate net-work of lines in a tension that was both pained and humorous.

Two fresh souls were given to his care to be made, please God, the means of grace by which thousands of other souls might be washed clean of the stain of original sin.  Yet, if revolt was there—­revolt like his daughter’s and like his own?  Would he forgive as his own father had forgiven, who had called him back after many years to live out a tranquil old age on the fortune that father’s father had founded?  He mused long on this.  The age was lax—­true, but God’s law was never lax.  If one would revolt from the right, one must suffer.  For the old man was one of the few last of a race of giants who were to believe always in the Printed Word.

CHAPTER III

THE CULT OF THE CANDY CANE

When the littler boy looked fairly into the frosty gray of that Christmas morning, the trailed banner of his faith was snatched once more aloft; and in the breast of his complacent brother there swelled the conviction that one does ill to flaunt one’s skepticism, when the rewards of belief are substantial and imminent.  For before them was an array of gifts such as neither had ever looked upon before, save as forbidden treasure of the few persons whose immense wealth enables them to keep toy-shops.

The tale of the princely Saint was now authenticated delightfully.  That which had made him seem unreal in moments of spiritual laxity—­the impenetrable secrecy of his private life—­was now seen to enhance manyfold his wondrous givings.  Here was a charm which could never have sat the display before them had it been dryly bought in their presence from one of the millionaire toy-shop keepers.  For a wondering moment they looked from their beds, sputtering, gibbering, gasping, with cautious calls one to the other.  Then having proved speech to