“Mr. Frisbie owns the house,” observed Gentleman Bill, “and I wouldn’t resort to violent measures to prevent him; though ’t isn’t possible for me to believe he’ll be so unhuman as to demolish it before you find another.”

“I’m inclined to think he will,” answered Mr. Williams, calmly.  “He’s a rather determined man, William.  But God won’t quite forget us, I’m sartin sure.  And we won’t worry about the house till the time comes, anyhow.  Le’ ’s see what the Good Book says to comfort us,” he added, with a hopeful smile.

Unfortunately, the “Timberville Gazette” had not reached this benighted family; and not having the Judge’s Address to read, Mr. Williams read the Sermon on the Mount.

Fessenden’s listened with the rest.  And alight, not of the understanding, but of the spirit, shone upon him.  His intellect was too feeble, I think, to draw any very keen comparison between those houses where the “Timberville Gazette” was taken and read that evening and this lowly abode,—­between the rich there, who had shut their proud, prosperous doors against him, and these poor servants of the Lord, who had taken him in and comforted him, though the hour was nigh when they, too, were to be driven forth shelterless in the wintry storms.  The deep and affecting suggestiveness of that wide contrast his mind was, no doubt, too weak thoroughly to appreciate.  Yet something his heart felt, and something his soul perceived; his pale and vacant face was illumined; and at the close of the reading he rose up.  The coarse wrappings of his body fell away; and the muffling ignorance, the swaddling dulness, wherein that divine infant, the bright immortal spirit, was confined, seemed also to fall off.  He lifted up his hands, spreading them as if dispensing blessings; and his countenance had a vague, smiling wonder in it, almost beautiful, and his voice, when he spoke, thrilled the ear.

“Praise the Lord! praise the Lord! for He will provide!

“Be comforted! for ye are the children of the Lord!

“Be glad! be glad! for the Angel of the Lord is here!

“Don’t you see him? don’t you see him?  There! there!” he cried, pointing, with an earnestness and radiance of look which filled all who saw him with astonishment.  They turned to gaze, as if really expecting to behold the vision; then fixed their eyes again on the stranger.

“You’ll be taken care of, the Angel says.  Even they that hate you shall do you good.  The mercy you have shown, Christ will show to you.”

Having uttered these sentences at intervals, in a loud voice, the speaker gave a start, turned as if bewildered, and sat down again.

Not a word was spoken.  A hush of awe suspended the breath of the listeners.  Then a smile of fervent emotion lighted up like daybreak the negro’s dark visage, and his joy broke forth in song.  The others joined him, filling the house with the jubilee of their wild and mellow voices.