ill retained his interest in the
business, and guided it skillfully by a word of advice now and then.
This evening of which I speak had been an eventful one. After a running
commentary on the business in general, and the business of that day in
particular, the talk had turned into another channel, and went on after
this fashion:

"Do you know you are a kind of a standing marvel to me?" Theodore
questioned.

"No," answered Jim, laughing. "Hadn't an idea of such a thing. I knew
that you had been a _walking_ marvel to me ever since I first laid eyes
on you at the Euclid House; but I thought _I_ was a commonplace kind of
an individual who astonished nobody. Enlighten me."

"Why," said Theodore, "you're such a square out-and-out honorable
business man; as particular to be honest in trifles as in greater sums;
as careful to render just exactly every man his due as it is possible to
be."

"And that surprises you, does it? Much obliged." And Jim spoke in a
laughing tone, but with a bright flush on his face.

"No, the marvel doesn't come in there," his companion had returned with
gravity; "but in the fact that one so particular with his fellow-man
should ignore or forget the obligations under which he is bound to
render account for every day's work in the sight of God."

"How do you know that I do forget?"

"Because I know you to be _so_ honest and honorable, that if you gave
this matter thought and weight, its reasonableness would so press itself
upon you that you would not even _try_ to shake it off."

"How do you know that I _do_ try?"

"My dear friend," said Theodore, tenderly, "how can I help knowing when
I know so well the love of Christ for you, his yearning over you, and
the fact that your mother's prayers are constantly going up for you, and
yet that you still slight such love?"

"But how do you know that last to be a fact?"

"My dear Jim, if you were not you would be a praying man, a Christian."

"And I still ask, how do you know that I am not? Is my life so at
variance with the principles of the gospel that you can not doubt it?"

Theodore turned eager, searching eyes upon his friend's face, and
questioned tremulously:

"_Are_ you a praying man, Jim?"

"I do hope and trust that I am."

The reply came in firm, clear tones, with a sort of undertone of solemn
triumph in them; and Theodore rose suddenly, and going around to his
side clasped hands with him in token of a new bond of fellowship, and
his