nd to think," he mused reproachfully, "that I could have doubted him
for a single instant--he certainly hung one on me that time."

The Patriarch reached into the drawer of the table beside him, took out
a slate and pencil, scratched a few words on the slate and handed both
pencil and slate to Madison.

"Your name is Madison, isn't it?" Madison read. "From New York? Hiram
told me about you."

"Hiram," said Madison to himself, "is a man of many parts, and the most
useful man I have ever known. Hiram, by reflected glory, will some day
become famous." On the slate he replied: "Yes; that is my name--John
Madison. It was good of Mr. Higgins to speak of me."

The Patriarch held the slate within a bare inch or two of his face, and
moved it back and forth before his eyes to follow the lines. As he
lowered it, Madison reached for it politely.

"I am afraid you do not see very well," he scribbled. "Shall I write
larger?"

Again the Patriarch deciphered the words laboriously; then he wrote, and
handed the slate to Madison.

"I am going blind," he had written. "Please write as large as possible."

"Blind!"--Madison's attitude and expression were eloquent enough not
only to be a perfect interpretation of his exclamation, but to convey
his shocked and pained surprise as well.

The Patriarch bowed his head affirmatively, smiling a little wistfully.

Madison impetuously drew his chair closer to the other, laid his hand
sympathetically upon the Patriarch's sleeve, and, with the slate upon
his knee, wrote with the other hand impulsively:

"I am sorry--very, very sorry. Would you care to tell me about it?"

The Patriarch's face lighted up while reading the slate, but he shook
his head slowly as he smiled again.

"By _and_ by, if you wish," he wrote. "But first about yourself. You are
sick--and you have come to me for help?"

The slate now passed from hand to hand quite rapidly.

"Yes," wrote Madison. "Can you cure me?"

"No," replied the Patriarch; "not in your present mental condition."

"What do you mean?" asked Madison.

"Your question itself implies that you are skeptical. While that state
of mind exists, I can do nothing--it depends entirely on yourself."

"And if I put skepticism aside?" Madison's pencil demanded. "Can you
cure me then?"

"Unquestionably," wrote the Patriarch, "if you really put it aside.
Faith is the simplest thing in the world and the most complex--but it is
fundamental. Without faith nothi