o move and screech again; "but I've got to get a little deeper
under his vest yet."

He handed the slate to the Patriarch, and on it were the words:

"Won't you tell me something of yourself, how you came to live here
alone, and your name, perhaps? I do not mean to presume, but I am deeply
interested."

"There is never presumption in kindliness and sympathy," answered the
Patriarch. "But my name and story is buried in the past--perhaps when I
am gone those who care to know may know. I have not hurt you by refusing
to answer?"

"No, indeed!" said Madison politely to himself. "The element of mystery
is one of the best drawing cards I know--it's got Needley going strong.
Far, far be it from me to tear the veil asunder. I mentioned it only as
a feeler."

But upon the slate he wrote:

"Far from being hurt, I respect your silence. But your eyes--you were to
tell me about them."

The Patriarch's face saddened suddenly as he read the words.

"I have made no secret of it," he wrote. "I have been going blind for
nearly a year now. The end, I am afraid, is very near--within a few
days, perhaps even to-morrow. I think I should not mind it much myself,
for I am very old and have not a great while longer to live in any case,
but for the time that is left it will mar my usefulness. I have been
able to help the people here and they have come to depend upon me--that
is my life. I trust I am not boastful if I say my greatest joy has been
in helping others."

He had come to the bottom of the slate and held it out for Madison to
read; then wiped it off, and went on:

"I have dreamed often of a wider field, of reaching out to help the
thousands beyond this little town--but I have realized that it could be
no more than a dream. I have been successful here because the people
believe in me and have unquestioning faith in me--to go outside amongst
strangers would only have been to be received as a charlatan and faker,
or as a poor deaf and dumb fool at best."

Madison took the slate.

"But if these thousands of others came to you--what then?"

The Patriarch's face glowed.

"It would be a wondrous joy," he wrote. "Too wondrous to dwell
upon--because it could never be. If they came I could help them, for
their very coming would be an evidence of faith--and faith alone is
necessary. Think of the joy of helping so many others--it is the fulness
of life. But let us not dream any more, friend Madison."

"Of course," communed Madis