t read any, after her giving
us all nice red Testaments," Martin told his father. "I don't read
much, but I ought to read some, after her fringing that red ribbon!
Most verses I read are short, like 'Lest coming suddenly, he find
you sleeping.'"

The stage-driver moved uneasily at the words.

"He hasn't forgot that verse after all these weeks?" thought the
man.

"I know what that verse means now," went on Martin. "Miss Bruce told
me. She says some folks forget they've got to die, and they ought to
be ready for that. A good many folks don't become Christians, and
Miss Bruce says she's afraid they'll be like that verse, 'Lest
coming suddenly, he find you sleeping.' You and I won't be that way,
will we, father? I'm going to try to be ready. Ain't you? Miss Bruce
says folks ought to always be."

His father's eyes were on the harness he was buckling.

"I hope you'll be ready, Martin," answered the father, "even if I
ain't."

The place where Martin lived was a small settlement distant from
town. Martin's father, Mr. Colver, not only three days in the week
drove the stage, but other days acted as a sort of expressman,
bringing freight in a large wagon over the miles from town. One
night about nine o'clock, Mr. Colver was on the long, lonely road
coming toward home. He had a very heavy load on his wagon. The
wheels scraped on the wagon bottom, and the team went with a heavy,
dragging sound.

As the heavy wagon came opposite a clump of white blossoming buckeye
trees, one of the fore wheels of the dragging wagon suddenly gave
way and fell off. Mr. Colver was thrown violently from the wagon's
high seat into the road, among the tumbling heavy boxes and barrels.
The sharp corner of one box struck Mr. Colver's head near the
temple.

The weary horses waited to be urged forward again. They did not know
that their driver lay insensible in the road.

It was early gray morning before one of the teamsters who boarded at
the Colvers' found Mr. Colver lying still insensible, and brought
him home. The blow on the head had been a very dangerous one. Martin
gazed awestruck at his father's shut eyes and unconscious face.

"I wonder if pa's going to die?" the boy anxiously thought. "I
wonder if pa's ready?"

The sorrowful hours came and went. Mr. Colver regained
consciousness, but for weeks he felt the effects of the blow that
might have smitten him never to rise.

One night when Martin was going to his room, his father called