A moment’s pause in the reading while the leaves were turned, and then the lesson was chosen from the 17th of St. John’s Gospel and selections from the ten last chapters of Revelation.  I fancied that in the pause between his reading the minister was asking to be directed to the right passages.  Every verse seemed to bring its own special consolation, and I was almost as much impressed with the look on Mr. Bowen’s face at last, as by the words that fell on my ears.  It reminded me of the faces the Old Masters have left us of the saints and martyrs of the early church.  Perhaps they took their models from just such men as Mr. Bowen, whom God had left in the furnace until his own image was reflected in them.  But my deepest emotions were stirred when, kneeling with the rest, I listened to Mr. Lathrop’s prayer.

As I listened, I had no longer any doubt as to the future well-being of this family; but, when just at the close of his prayer, my name was mentioned, and the fulfillment asked for the promise given by Christ, that even a cup of cold water given in his name should be rewarded, a strange sense of awe came over me.  Was it possible I had been giving direct to Christ—­visiting His sick, and poor, and sorrowing, and making Him glad?  My eyes filled with tears, and a deep longing took possession of my heart to know this mighty Friend who died for me, in the same real, blessed way that these men knew, and loved Him.  There were few words spoken after the prayer was ended.  The place seemed holy ground and, shortly after, Mr. Lathrop left, first going to the little lad who had given me his whispered confidence, and dropped a few silver coins in his chubby fist.  He stood regarding the money complacently until the door had closed on the minister, and then, going to his grandfather, he showed, with great glee, his store of money.

“We will have everything now that we want, won’t we, grandfather?” he questioned, placing the money in his grandfather’s hands.

“We will always have what is best for us, Freddie; but you must never take the minister’s money again.  You should give to him, instead of taking from him.”

“So I must,” Freddie responded, rather sorrowfully; “but may I take his apples?”

“Well, yes; you may do that, and, some day, when you are a big boy, and earning money, you can buy him a whole barrel full.”

“I might keep a few of them?” Freddie questioned, such extreme generosity overpowering his imagination.

“We will see when the time comes.”

Mrs. Blake beckoned me to her side, at the further end of the room.

“I didn’t give him these; I put ’em out of sight till you’d come.”

“But I wanted him to get them while I was away.”

“Yes, I know; but it’ll be easier to thank you right off, when he’s surprised.  My! he’d soon have been able to fly; his clothes is that ragged.”

“Yes, they are very poor; but, some way, one don’t see much but his face.  I forget that he is poor and ragged when I look at him.”