been let out.'

"Well, that was encouragin', for I didn't want to get in no jails no
more. When the man went away he left me a little book that didn't have
nothin' in it but things Jesus Himself said. I read it lots; some of it
I didn't understand, an' I can't get it through my head yet, but what I
did get done me so much good that I found myself kind o' changin' like,
an' I've been changin' ever since. Nan, I want you to read it too, an'
see if it don't do you good. We ain't been what we ought to be; it's
all my fault. The children ain't had no show; that's all my fault too,
but it'll take all that two of us can do to catch up with 'em. I want
you to be always 'side o' me, Nan."

"We can't let 'em starve," said the wife; "an' if what you're
believin' is goin' to keep you from pickin' up a livin' for 'em when
you get a chance, what are we goin' to do?"

"I'm goin' to work," said Sam.

"Sho! You never done three days' work hand-runnin' in your life." Then
Mrs. Kimper gave a hard laugh.

"I've done it over two years now, an' I guess I can keep on, if I get
the chance. I can stick to it if you'll back me up, Nan."

"There ain't much to me nowaday," said Mrs. Kimper, after a moment or
two of blank staring as she held her chin in her hands and rested her
elbows on her knees. "Once I had an idee I was about as lively as they
make 'em, but things has knocked it out of me,--a good many kind of
things."

"I know it, poor gal," said Sam; "I know it: I feel a good deal the
same way myself sometimes; but it helps me along an' stren'thens me up,
like, to know that Him that the visitor in jail told me about didn't
have no home a good deal of the time, an' not overmuch to eat, an' yet
was cheerful like, an' always on His nerve. It braces a fellow up to
think somebody's who's been as bad off as himself has pulled through,
an' not stole nothin', nor fit with nobody, nor got drunk, but always
was lookin' out for other folks. Say, Nan, 'pears to me it's gettin'
dark all of a sudden--oh!"

The exclamation was called out by the cause of the sudden darkness,
which was no other than Deacon Quickset, who had reached the door-way
without being heard. The deacon's proportions were generous; those of
the door were not.

"Samuel," said the deacon, "you said this afternoon that you were a
changed man, and that you were leaning on a strength greater than your
own. I want to see you make a new start and a fair one; and, as there's
a praye