heart. He grew pale and
red, then bit his lips in excitement. He wished he was at home.
Testimony followed testimony. Love, peace and joy rang through all. At
last Jane rose--could it be possible? He hung on every word.

"Last night, down there at the bench, the Lord converted my soul. I
have been a poor sinner, but I know Jesus loves me, and I wish--I
wish," and she looked over to the far rear, "you would let him save
you;" and she sat down in tears.

Job was wildly angry. "The mischief take her!" he muttered. And Dan
leaned over and whispered, "See, she's gone daft, like the rest!"

The testimonies and love-feast were over, a prayer that made Job feel
as if Some One great and good was near, had been offered, and then it
was announced that the Rev. William Pendergast of Calavero circuit
would preach.

"What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his
own soul?"

It was a young, fresh, boyish face that looked into Job's as the
speaker uttered these words. Just such a bright, athletic, noble
fellow as every true boy secretly wishes to be. He caught Job's
attention and held it.

This was a very different thing from what he had thought sermons to
be. The young man talked of life here, not hereafter; he showed how a
man may live in this world and yet live a lost life; have gold and
lands, and yet lose all love and hope and peace and manhood. He
pictured the man who gains wealth and grows hard and loveless, and Job
thought of Andy Malden; he told of him who plunges into dissipation
and drink, and lingers a wreck in the streets, and Job knew he meant
Yankee Sam. Aye, he pictured a young life that grasps all the world
and forgets right and God and mother's Bible and mother's prayers, and
grows selfish and the slave of hate and trembles lest death come, and
Job thought of himself and the awful night in the snow and wished he
was miles away.

But wait! They are singing:

"Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore."

They have cleared the mourners' bench and are giving the invitation:

"Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power."

Job trembles. Does that mean him? Tim Nolan the mill-man leans over
and whispers almost out loud: "Remember your bet, Job!"

Poor Job would have given all the gold in the Sierras to be out of
there. All the sins of his life rose before him, all his conceit and
boasting vanished. He was ashamed of Job Malde