way so well," said Rush. He had not before spoken as he now
spoke, almost cheerfully, almost hopefully. Here was this fellow that told
fortunes, daring to prophesy good days for him! But then, was he not a
bankrupt? And if he lived--a beggar still?

* * * * *

The sun had set, and the faces of the two men were again turned to the
village. They had walked quite round the lake, and Summerman had concluded
that he would invite the gentleman to dine with him when they came back to
the inn; would he accept the courtesy? Summerman looked at Mr. Rush, that
he might ascertain the probabilities, and thought that he could see a
breaking of the black clouds which held this man a prisoner. He wanted to
preach to him. He wanted exceedingly to launch out again on the Good Will
doctrine; and at length he did, but not exactly in the manner he would
have chosen, had he been left to himself.

As they walked along in silence, suddenly came and met them the sound of a
quick clanging church bell; then rose a mighty cry, and a still more
potent flame ascending heavenward.

"It's a fire!" cried Summerman. And, true to his living impulse and
instinct, which was forever--first and last, and ever--the good of the
public, the little man set off on a run. His companion, the gentleman who
had never, in his thirty years, run to a fire, with generous intent,
followed on as fleetly. So they came together to the village street, when,
lo! the shop of Daniel Summerman, was making all this stir! drawing such
crowds about it as never before the artist's varied powers had done.

There was neither door nor roof, wall or window, visible, but a pit of
flame, and within, as everybody knew, the entire stock, sum total of the
organist's worldly goods.

"Well! well!" said he, as, panting, he came to a stand-still in the middle
of the street, his companion close beside him.

"Curse God, and die!" was all that the wife of Job could think to say to
him, in his extremity.

"Well! well!" was the comment Redman Rush could make on this disaster,
repeating Summerman's words with an emphasis not all his own. It was
evident that, for a moment at least, he had forgotten himself; his face
was no longer dark with misery, but full of consternation, alive with
sympathy. And still he said:

"Where's your Good Will doctrine, though?"

"Safe!" cried the organist, and he crossed his arms on his breast with a
look of perfect triumph.

"You