r side, he is. It'll
all be right in the end--glory be to God for that thought!"

"And for every suffering you will have your reward, my noble Christian
brother," exclaimed Father Brighthopes, with kindling enthusiasm.
"Believe it: you will come out of the fire all the purer and brighter
for the ordeal."

Job squeezed a tear from his eye, and, looking up with a countenance
full of emotion, as the red light from the western clouds fell upon it,
took a book from the bench by his side.

"I don't know how I shall thank you for all the comfort I owe you," he
said, with a tearful smile. "What you tell me is wonderful consoling for
me to think about here at work, and to repeat over to my good woman,
when she has her trials. But I take it as kind as anything your sending
me the books by Margaret. I don't have much chance to read, and they
will last me a good while: the better for me, I s'pose. You see, I read
a sentence, then I hammer away at my work, thinking it over and over,
and explaining it to my good woman: it does her good when she's having
her bad spells."

"Which of the books do you like best?" asked the clergyman.

"The story of the Pilgrim's Progress is a glorious thing for a lonesome
and fainting traveler on the same road, like me!" exclaimed Job. "But I
had read that before, and got it pretty well by heart. Now, this
_Barnes' Notes_ interests me as much as anything; there was so many
things in the Testament I wanted to have explained."

"I am delighted to think you are comforted by any of the books," said
the old clergyman, warmly.

"Oh, I get a world of good out of this one, especially. Wife sometimes
tells me 't an't no use to read it; but," said Job, with a gleaming
intelligence in his queer face, as the sunset glow deepened upon it,
"what do you think I tell her?"

Father Brighthopes knew some pleasant sally was coming, and encouraged
him to proceed.

"I tell her," said Job, quietly chuckling, "the study of _Barnes_ makes
my faith _stable_."

This little jest appealed to the sympathies of the farmers, and they
honored it with a laugh. Job was radiant with joy.

"I wish the _Notes_ was condensed into half the number of volumes," he
proceeded, under this encouragement. "If I had time to read them, the
more the better. But I find them like the waters of a deep stream."

Father Brighthopes saw a joke in Job's twinkling eyes, and asked him to
explain the comparison.

"Ha! ha!" Job laughed, in spite