e somewhere,' she said bravely; nevertheless, her young cheek blanched,
and she shivered slightly as she glanced round the place--poor enough,
perhaps, but which at least afforded her a peaceful and comfortable
home. These signs were not unnoticed by the dying man, and a faint,
slow, melancholy smile gathered about his haggard mouth.

'You believe, I suppose, that the Lord will provide for you?' he said
grimly.

'Yes, I do.'

'Does He never fail, eh?'

'Never. He does not always provide just as we expect or desire, but
provision is made all the same,' answered the girl, and her eyes shone
with a steadfast light.

'It's a very comfortable doctrine, but not practicable, nor, to my
thinking, honest. Do you mean to say that it is right to sit down with
folded hands waiting for the Lord to provide, and living off other
people at the same time?'

Gladys smiled.

'No, that is not right, but wrong, very wrong, and punishment always
follows. Heaven helps those who help themselves; don't you remember
that?'

'Ay, well, I don't understand your theology, I confess. But we may as
well think it out. What do you suppose will become of me after I shuffle
off, eh?'

'I don't know, uncle. You best know what your own hope is,' she replied.

'I have no hope, and I don't see myself how anybody can presume to have
any. It's all conjecture about a future life. How does anybody know?
Nobody has ever come back to tell the tale.'

'No; but we know, all the same, that there are many mansions in heaven,
and that God has prepared them for His children.'

'You would not call me one of them, I guess?' said the old man, with a
touch of sarcasm, yet there was something behind--a great wistfulness, a
consuming anxiety, which betrayed itself in his very eye, as he awaited
her reply. It was a curious moment, a curious scene. The old, toilworn,
world-weary man, who had spent his days in the most sordid pursuit of
gold--gold for which he would at one time almost have sold his soul,
hanging on the words of a young, untried maiden, whose purity enabled
her to touch the very gates of heaven. It was a sight to make the
philosopher ponder anew on the mysteries of life, and the strange
anomalies human nature presents.

She turned her sweet face to him, and there was a mixture of pathos and
brightness in her glance.

'Why not, uncle? I may not judge. It is God who knows the heart.'

'Ay, maybe. But what would you think yourself? You have shrewd