k on the Sabbath. I
propose that, besides doing this, we should read a chapter of the Bible
together as a family, morning and evening on Sundays. What say you?"

There was a pause. It was evident that conflicting feelings were at
work among the party.

"Perhaps you're right," said Maxton; "I confess that I have troubled
myself very little about religion since I came out here, but my
conscience has often reproached me for it."

"Don't you think, messmates," said Captain Bunting, lighting his pipe,
"that if it gets wind the whole colony will be laughin' at us?"

"Sure they may laugh," said Larry O'Neil, "an' after that they may cry,
av it'll do them good. Wot's the differ to us?"

"I don't agree with you, Ned," said Tom Collins, somewhat testily; "for
my part I like to see men straightforward, all fair and above-board, as
the captain would say. Hypocrisy is an abominable vice, whether it is
well meaning or ill meaning, and I don't see the use of pretending to be
religious when we are not."

"Tom," replied Ned, in an earnest voice, "don't talk lightly of serious
things. I don't _pretend_ to be religious, but I do _desire_ to be so:
and I think it would be good for all of us to read a portion of God's
Word on His own day, both for the purpose of obeying and honouring Him,
and of getting our minds filled, for a short time at least, with other
thoughts than those of gold-hunting. In doing this there is no
hypocrisy."

"Well, well," rejoined Tom, "I'll not object if the rest are agreed."

"Agreed," was the unanimous reply. So Ned rose, and, opening his
portmanteau, drew forth the little Bible that had been presented to him
by old Mr Shirley on the day of his departure from home.

From that day forward, every Sabbath morning and evening, Ned Sinton
read a portion of the Word of God to his companions, as long as they
were together; and each of the party afterwards, at different times,
confessed that, from the time the reading of the Bible was begun, he
felt happier than he did before.

After breakfast they broke up, and went out to stroll for an hour or two
upon the wooded slopes of the mountains. Ned and Tom Collins went off
by themselves, the others, with the exception of Larry, walked out
together.

That morning Larry O'Neil felt less sociable than was his wont, so he
sallied forth alone. For some time he sauntered about with his hands in
his pockets, his black pipe in his mouth, a thick oak cudgel, of