ble little book with the gilt edges came out
at a regular hour each day, and for five minutes at least had his full
attention, without offensive interruption.

On the whole, the poorhouse had become for Johanson a peaceful and in a
measure a comfortable home.

CHAPTER IV.

PREPARING FOR CONFIRMATION.

With the autumn began for the pastor the most pleasing duty of the
year--the instruction of his class for confirmation. He announced in
church one Sunday that after the service he would be in the sacristy to
take the names of any of the young people who wished to join the
proposed class. He was sitting in the sacristy at the appointed time,
with a group of young rustics standing about him, when Johanson came
quietly in.

"I can attend to you first," said the pastor, turning kindly towards the
dark-bearded man.

"I can wait; I am in no hurry," was the reply.

The waiting was long, as had been expected. When the boys and girls had
all gone out, Johanson stepped to the pastor's side and said, "Please
put down my name."

"For what?" asked the pastor, in astonishment.

"For the confirmation class," was the calm reply. "I have never been
confirmed."

The pastor had noticed, naturally, that Johanson had not been forward to
the Lord's Supper even when the cellar-master had been helped up the
aisle from the poorhouse seat near the door, and Gull and the half-mad
poet had decorously followed. At this he had hardly been surprised, for
there were other members of the congregation who did not communicate
more than once a year. The good man felt a sudden repulsion towards the
stranger still without the Christian pale.

"You wish then to be confirmed?" said the pastor, looking Johanson
directly in the eye.

"I wish to receive the instruction, and it will be your duty to judge of
my fitness afterwards," was the reply.

"Perhaps I could find time to teach you privately, though it is a busy
season, with all the certificates of removal and that kind of thing,"
said the pastor doubtfully.

"I would rather be taught as you teach these young people," said
Johanson. "Please try to forget that I am not a boy."

That was a hard duty to impose on the pastor, who looked into the
browned face and the troubled dark eyes. He did not promise, but simply
said, "The class, as you heard, will meet in the dining-room at the
parsonage on Wednesday afternoon. I hope the instructions may be blessed
to you," and they parted.

Wedn