sticking by and helping out when one of the gang had a hard task to perform.  But it pleased both Courtland and Burns that he came.  Courtland wondered, as he shared the hymn-book with him and heard him growl out a few bass notes to old “Rock of Ages,” why it was that it seemed to fill him with a kind of exaltation to hear Pat sing.  He hadn’t yet recognized the call to go a-fishing for men, nor knew that it was the divine angler’s deep delight in his employment that was filling him.  It was while they were singing that hymn that he stole a look at Pat, and felt a sudden wonder whether he would understand about the Presence or not, a burning desire to tell him about it some time if the right opportunity offered.

The days down at the shore had done a lot for Courtland.  He had taken care that the spot he selected was many miles removed from the popular resort where Mr. Dare had a magnificent cottage; and there had been absolutely nothing in the whole two days to remind him of Gila.  It was a quiet place, with a far, smooth beach, and no board walks nor crowds to shut out the vision of the sea.  He leaped along the sand and dived into the water with his old enthusiasm.  He played like a fish in the ocean.  He taught Burns several things about swimming, and played pranks like a school-boy.  He basked in the sun and told jokes, laughing at Pat’s brilliant wit and Burns’s dry humor.  At night they took long walks upon the sand and talked of deep things that Pat could scarcely understand.  He was satisfied to stride between them, listening to the vigorous ring of Courtland’s old natural voice again.  He heard their converse high above where he lived, and loved them for the way they searched into things too deep for him.

It was out in the wildest, loneliest part of the beach that night that he heard the first hint of what had come to the soul of Courtland.  Pat had come of Catholic ancestry.  He had an inheritance of reverence for the unseen.  He had never been troubled with doubts or sneers.  He had let religion go by and shed it like a shower, but he respected it.

Courtland spent much time in the vicinity of the factory and of Robert Burns’s church during the next few weeks.  He helped Burns a good deal, for the man had heavily taxed himself with the burdens of the poor about him.  Courtland found ways to privately relieve necessity and put a poor soul now and then on his feet and able to face the world again by the loan of a few cents or dollars.  It took so pitifully little to open the gate of heaven to some lives!  Courtland with his keen intellect and fine perceptions was able sometimes to help the older man in his perplexities; and once, when Burns was greatly worried over a bill that was hanging fire during a prolonged session of congress, Courtland went down to Washington for a week-end and hunted up some of his father’s Congressional friends.  He told them a few facts concerning factories in general, and a certain model, white-marble, much be-vined factory in particular, that at least opened their eyes if it did not make much difference in the general outcome.  But though the bill failed to pass that session, being skilfully side-tracked, Courtland had managed to stir up a bit of trouble for Uncle Ramsey Thomas that made him storm about his office wrathfully and wonder who that “darned little rat of a preacher” had helping him now!