fted to the western sky the boy sang,
gaining confidence with every word, till he himself caught and
pictured to the others the vision of that "golden evening."
When he came to the last verse, Brown stopped him.

"Wait, Kalman," he said. "Let me read that for you. Or better,
you read it," he said, passing French the book.

French took the book, paused, made as if to give it back, then,
as if ashamed of his hesitation, began to read in a voice quiet
and thrilling the words of immortal vision.

"From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host."

But before the close his voice shook, and ended in a husky whisper.
Touched by the strong man's emotion, the boy began the verse in
tones that faltered. But as he went on his voice came to him again,
and with a deeper, fuller note he sang the great words,

"Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Hallelujah!"

With the spell of the song still upon them Brown prayed in words
simple, reverent, and honest, with a child's confidence, as if
speaking to one he knew well. Around the open glade with its three
worshippers breathed the silent night, above it shone the stars,
the mysterious stars, but nearer than night, and nearer than the
stars, seemed God, listening and aware.

Through all his after years Kalman would look back to that night
as the night on which God first became to him something other
than a name. And to French that evening song and prayer were an
echo from those dim and sacred shrines of memory where dwelt
his holiest and tenderest thoughts.

Next day, Black Joe, tired of freedom, wandered home, to the
great joy of the household.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BREAK

"Open your letter, Irma. From the postmark, it is surely from Kalman.
And what good writing it is! I have just had one from Jack."

Mrs. French was standing in the cosy kitchen of Simon Ketzel's
house, where, ever since the tragic night when Kalman had been so
nearly done to death, Irma, with Paulina and her child, had found a
refuge and a home. Simon had not forgotten his oath to his brother,
Michael Kalmar.

Irma stood, letter in hand, her heart in a tumult of joy, not
because it was the first letter she had ever received in her life,
but because the letter was from Kalman. She had one passion, love
for her brother. For him she held a strangely mingled affection
of mother, sister, lover, all in o