thoughts were far back in his sinful, sorrowful past. He had
felt as if he had hardly a right to welcome the day when the Saviour was
born. Now his face beamed with joy; but he only said, "I am glad you are
all so happy. I am sure you will be pleased again when you see something
in church to-day."

Many weeks before Christmas, Johanson had asked permission to go into
the church, and to have a tall ladder carried in with him. The pastor
was astonished at the request. The permission had been granted. No
results of the matter had, however, appeared. The same permission had
been given the day before. There had been some hammering then, he
understood, but had no misgivings in the matter, as he had begun to
trust Johanson as an upright, honest man.

There were surprise and delight on all faces when they entered the
church for the early service on Christmas morning. Of course there was a
perfect blaze of light within, but that they had expected. The golden
cross was gone; the red curtain had disappeared; the old picture, now
but a ragged canvas, had been removed, and in its place was a beautiful
painting. It represented the Lord Jesus, sitting with a glory round His
benign countenance, welcoming a penitent, weary pilgrim from afar, who
knelt to receive His blessing. Below was the legend, "Him that cometh to
Me I will in no wise cast out."

The carol that was sung was the same that the pastor's wife had chosen
to be used at the lighting of the tree in her own home the evening
before. The rural choir had practised it well, and it sounded out over
the old church like angelic music.

At the first notes Johanson started and covered his face with his hands.
A moment later, though he held no notes to follow, his beautiful voice
rang out loud and clear and in full harmony with the other singers.

When the service was over, there was a crowd lingering in the aisles,
praising and admiring the beautiful picture and the new carol; but
Johanson was soon alone in the poorhouse, with "Hosanna! hosanna!" in
his heart.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BEATA CHARITY.

Gull had come to the cellar-master with a choice bit of news to tell. A
stranger had bought the land where the major's home and stood, and
buildings were to be put up there immediately. The long lonely spot was
soon a busy scene, as the architect, with plans in hand, was hurrying
about among the skilful workmen.

Whoever would, might hear where the new poorhouse was to stan