orks beautifully."

One evening, after supper, Mr. Beecher said to his wife:

"Mother, what material have we among our papers about our early Indiana
days?"

Mr. Beecher had long been importuned to write his autobiography, and he
had decided to do it after he had finished his Life of Christ.

Mrs. Beecher had two boxes brought into the room.

"Suppose you look into that box, if you will," said Mr. Beecher to
Edward, "and I'll take this one, and we'll see what we can find about
that time. Mother, you supervise and see how we look on the floor."

And Mr. Beecher sat down on the floor in front of one box,
shoemaker-fashion, while Edward, likewise on the floor, started on the
other box.

It was a dusty job, and the little room began to be filled with
particles of dust which set Mrs. Beecher coughing. At last she said:
"I'll leave you two to finish. I have some things to do up-stairs, and
then I'll retire. Don't be too late, Henry," she said.

It was one of those rare evenings for Mr. Beecher--absolutely free from
interruption; and, with his memory constantly taken back to his early
days, he continued in a reminiscent mood that was charmingly intimate to
the boy.

"Found something?" he asked at one intermission when quiet had reigned
longer than usual, and he saw Edward studying a huge pile of papers.

"No, sir," said the boy. "Only a lot of papers about a suit."

"What suit?" asked Mr. Beecher mechanically, with his head buried in his
box.

"I don't know, sir," Edward replied naively, little knowing what he was
reopening to the preacher. "'Tilton versus Beecher' they are marked."

Mr. Beecher said nothing, and after the boy had fingered the papers he
chanced to look in the preacher's direction and found him watching him
intently with a curiously serious look in his face.

"Must have been a big suit," commented the boy. "Here's another pile of
papers about it."

Edward could not make out Mr. Beecher's steady look at him as he sat
there on the floor mechanically playing with a paper in his hand.

"Yes," he finally said, "it was a big suit. What does it mean to you?"
he asked suddenly.

"To me?" Edward asked. "Nothing, sir. Why?"

Mr. Beecher said nothing for a few moments, and turned to his box to
examine some more papers.

Then the boy asked: "Was the Beecher in this suit you, Mr. Beecher?"

Again was turned on him that serious, questioning look.

"Yes," he said after a bit. Then he thought again fo