ther used to pray three times a
day--with grace at meals, too. I know there's a lot in it for them that
need it; and there seems to be a lot of folks needing it, if I'm to judge
by folks down there at Jansen, 'specially when there's the laying-on of
hands and the Healing Springs. Oh, that was a pigsty game, Scranton, that
about God giving you the Healing Springs, like Moses and the rock! Why, I
discovered them springs myself two years ago, before I went South, and I
guess God wasn't helping me any--not after I've kept out of His way as I
have. But, anyhow, religion's real; that's my sense of it; and you can get
it, I bet, if you try. I've seen it got. A friend of mine got it--got it
under your preaching; not from you; but you was the accident that brought
it about, I expect. It's funny--it's merakilous, but it's so. Kneel down!"
he added, with peremptory suddenness. "Kneel, Scranton!"

In fear the other knelt.

"You're going to get religion now--here. You're going to pray for what you
didn't get--and almost got--in the desert. You're going to ask forgiveness
for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for the Spirit to
come down. You ain't a scoundrel at heart--a friend of mine says so.
You're a weak vessel--cracked, perhaps. You've got to be saved, and start
right over again--and 'Praise God from whom all blessings flow!'
Pray--pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth, and get it--get religion.
Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out loud. Remember the desert, and
Mary Jewell, and your mother--did you have a mother, Scranton?--say, did
you have a mother, lad?"

Tim's voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer
had broken down in a torrent of tears.

"Oh, my mother--O God!" he groaned.

"Say, that's right--that's right--go on," said the other and drew back a
little, and sat down on a log.

The man on his knees was convulsed with misery. Denton, the world,
disappeared. He prayed in agony.

Presently Tim moved uneasily, then got up and walked about; and at last,
with a strange, awed look, when an hour was past, he stole back into the
shadow of the trees while still the wounded soul poured out its misery and
repentance.

Time moved on. A curious shyness possessed Tim now, a thing which he had
never felt in his life. He moved about self-consciously, awkwardly, until
at last there was a sudden silence over by the brook.

Tim looked, and saw the face of the kneeling man cleared and