lp of God."

"Och, aye, ye're right; jist talk t' me ov Him."

"I was talkin' about His Spirit when Jamie came in."

"Aye."

"It comes in as many ways as there's need fur its comin', an' that's
quite a wheen."

"God knows."

"Ye'll haave t' be calm, dear, before He'd come t' ye in aany way."

"Aye, but I'm at pace now, Anna, amn't I?"

"Well, now, get out here an' get down on th' floor on yer bare knees
and haave a talk wi' 'im."

Eliza obeyed implicitly. Anna knelt beside her.

"I don't know what t' say."

"Say afther me," and Anna told of an empty home and a sore heart. When
she paused, Eliza groaned.

"Now tell 'im to lay 'is hand on yer tired head in token that He's wi'
ye in yer disthress!"

Even to a dull intellect like Eliza's the suggestion was startling.

"Wud He do it, Anna?"

"Well, jist ask 'im an' then wait an' see!"

In faltering tones Eliza made her request and waited. As gently as falls
an autumn leaf Anna laid her hand on Eliza's head, held it there for a
moment and removed it.

"Oh, oh, oh, He's done it, Anna, He's done it, glory be t' God, He's
done it!"

"Rise up, dear," Anna said, "an' tell me about it."

"There was a nice feelin' went down through me, Anna, an' th' han' was
jist like yours!"

"The han' was mine, but it was God's too."

Anna wiped her spectacles and took Eliza over close to the window while
she read a text of the Bible. "Listen, dear," Anna said, "God's arm is
not shortened."

"Did ye think that an arm could be stretched from beyont th' clouds t'
Pogue's entry?"

"Aye."

"No, dear, but God takes a han' where ever He can find it and jist diz
what He likes wi' it. Sometimes He takes a bishop's and lays it on a
child's head in benediction, then He takes the han' of a dochter t'
relieve pain, th' han' of a mother t' guide her chile, an' sometimes He
takes th' han' of an aul craither like me t' give a bit comfort to a
neighbor. But they're all han's touch't be His Spirit, an' His Spirit is
everywhere lukin' fur han's to use."

Eliza looked at her open-mouthed for a moment.

"Tell me, Anna," she said, as she put her hands on her shoulders, "was
th' han' that bro't home trouts fur th' childther God's han' too?"

"Aye, 'deed it was."

"Oh, glory be t' God--thin I'm at pace--isn't it gran' t' think
on--isn't it now?"

Eliza Conlon abruptly terminated the conversation by announcing that all
was ready for the wake.

"Ah, but it's the purty corpse he i