ose who have suffered as he has suffered."

When he had left off speaking and the family knelt in prayer, Harry
Benton's voice trembled with emotion as he prayed for all those back
home whom he remembered, and especially for his father.

When the morning chores were done and Harry Benton started to the Full
Salvation Mission, which mission he had superintended and supported for
a number of years, he was met on his front porch by a Western Union
messenger boy, who took from beneath his blue cap a slip of yellow paper
and handed it to him. This is how it read: "Come, Father very low."

Benton telephoned one of his brethren to take charge of the Mission, and
after earnestly beseeching the Lord to spare his father until his
bedside could be reached, he and his wife made hasty arrangements to
start, and were soon speeding across the fertile fields of Illinois.
They crossed the mighty Mississippi, changed trains in St. Louis' big
Union Depot, and after a few hours' ride their train was gliding past
old familiar scenes of bygone days.

"Dobbinsville, Dobbinsville," shouted the porter as he thrust his face
in at the door of the coach. Three short jerks at the signal
cord--swish, swish, swish--back from the engine--t-oot-oot-oot--a sudden
let-up in speed, a screech of the airbrakes, a bang of the door, and the
Texas Canon-Ball made one of its seldom stops at Dobbinsville and Harry
Benton and his family stepped to the platform.

A thirty-minute ride through the country in a neighbor's automobile and
once more in life Harry Benton stepped foot upon the premises of his
childhood. His prayer had been answered. His father seemed to be dying
during the night, but with the coming of morning he revived and regained
consciousness. When Harry and Eva entered the room where his father lay,
the old saint seemed as happy as a child and much rejoiced at seeing
Harry and Eva and their babies, who were the last of a great flock of
sons and sons-in-law and daughters and daughters-in-law and
grandchildren and great-grandchildren to arrive.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." Since
Jake Benton's conversion, more than a quarter of a century previously to
this time, his life had been one continuous sermon--a sermon more
eloquent than any ever preached from a pulpit. But if the sermon of his
life was eloquent, that of his death was more so. According to his
simple philosophy, life was just a sort of lodging-place bes