d's wise and careful overseeing, there came to him those
who were instruments for good--my mother first, whom, like Clelie, he
never called anything but "Madame" and whom, like Clelie, he presently
obeyed with unquestioning and childlike readiness. Now, Madame is a
truly wonderful person when she deals with people like him. Never for
a moment lowering her own natural and beautiful dignity, but without a
hint of condescension, Madame manages to find the just level upon
which both can stand as on common ground; then, without noise, she
helps, and she conveys the impression that thus noiselessly to help is
the only just, natural and beautiful thing for any decent person to
do, unless, perhaps, it might be to receive in the like spirit.

Judge Mayne's son, Laurence, full of a fresh and boyish enthusiasm,
was such another instrument. He had a handsome, intelligent face, a
straight and beautiful body, and the pleasantest voice in the world.
His mother in her last years had been a fretful invalid, and to meet
her constant demands the judge and his son had developed an angelic
patience with weakness. They were both rather quiet and
undemonstrative, this father and son; the older man, in fact had a
stern visage at first glance, until one learned to know it as the face
of a man trained to restraint and endurance. As for the boy, no one
could long resist the shrewd, kind youngster, who could spend an hour
with the most unlikely invalid and leave him all the better for it. I
was unusually busy just then, Clelie frankly hated and feared the man
upstairs, my mother had her hands full, and there were many heavy and
lonesome hours which Laurence set himself the task of filling. I left
this to the boy himself, offering no suggestions.

"Padre," said the boy to me, some time later, "that chap upstairs is
the hardest nut I ever tried to crack. There've been times when I felt
tempted to crack him with a sledge-hammer, if you want the truth. You
know, he always seemed to like me to read to him, but I've never been
able to discover whether or not he liked what I read. He never asked
me a single question, he never seemed interested enough to make a
comment. But I think that I've made a dent in him at last."

"A dent! In Flint? With what adamantine pick, oh hardiest of miners!"

"With a book. Guess!"

"I couldn't. I give up."

"The Bible!" said Laurence.

The Bible! Had _I_ chosen to read it to him, he would have resented
it, been impe