l aloud.

"O God of pity, in the name of the loving and merciful Christ, help me
and poor Thomas in our troubles."

"I ought to have put Thomas's name first--my selfishness again," he
ejaculated, then went on:

"Give consolation to Thomas who loved his baby, and if it pleases Thee
in Thy infinite wisdom and foresight, spare my dearest Barbara's life,
that she may live out her days upon the earth and perhaps in her turn
give life to others. I know I should not ask it; I know it is better
that she should go and be with Thee in the immortal home Thou hast
prepared for us unhappy, suffering creatures. Yet--pity my poor human
weakness--I do ask it. Or if Thou decreest otherwise, then take me also,
O God, for I can bear no more. Four children gone! I can bear no more, O
God."

He sobbed again and wiped away another tear, then muttered:

"My selfishness, always my selfishness! With six remaining to be looked
after, that is counting Barbara if she still lives, I dare to ask to
be relieved of the burdens of the flesh! Pitiful Christ, visit not my
wickedness on me or on others, and O Thou that didst raise the daughter
of Jairus, save my sweet Barbara and comfort the heart of poor Thomas. I
will have faith. I _will_ have faith."

He thrust his hat upon his head, pulling it down over his ears because
of the rough wind, and walked forward quite jauntily for a few yards.

"What a comfort these new boots are," he said. "If I had stepped into
that pool with the old ones my left foot would be wet through now. Let
me thank God for these new boots. Oh! how can I, when I remember that
the price of them should have been spent in milk for the poor baby? If
I were really a Christian I ought to take them off and walk barefoot,
as the old pilgrims used to do. They say it is healthy, and I tried
to think so because it is cheap, though I am sure that this was
the beginning of poor little Cicely's last illness. With her broken
chilblains she could not stand the snow; at any rate, the chill struck
upwards. Well, she has been in bliss three years, three whole years, and
how thankful I ought to be for that. How glad she will be to see Barbara
too, if it pleases God in His mercy to take Barbara; she always was her
favourite sister. I ought to remember that; I ought to remember that
what I lose here I gain there, that my store is always growing in
Heaven. But I can't, for I am a man still. Oh! curse it all! I can't,
and like Job I wish I'd neve