and who wished to come as a
little child into the church, and he would present him for baptism if
he might.

The preacher gave willing consent, and the wondering congregation
waited. Job rose and passed to the rear. Every head was turned. Then
he came back, and on his arm, neatly dressed in a plain black suit,
came poor, crippled Dan Dean.

The people who saw that scene can never agree on just what happened
then. A resurrection from the dead could scarcely have surprised them
more. It is said that they rose en masse and stood in silence as the
pair passed down the aisle. Then someone started up, "There's a
wideness in God's mercy like the wideness of the sea," and the whole
church rang.

Some say that Dan told of his conversion and his faith in Jesus; some,
that Job told it; some, the preacher. The preacher's tears, it is
said, mingled with the baptismal waters, and the noonday sun kissed
them into gold, on that famous Sunday when Daniel Dean was baptized
and received as a little child into the Gold City church.

CHAPTER XXIX.

SUNSET.

One evening soon after that memorable Sunday, Job reached home rather
late. Putting Bess in the stall, he said a tender good-night, crossed
the square to the gate, and went up to the house to find it strangely
still. He pushed the door ajar and saw the old man leaning on his cane
in his arm-chair. His white locks were gilded by the setting sun. His
spectacles lay across the open Bible on the chair at his side. Job
spoke, but there was no answer. Stepping over to see if the old man
was asleep, he found he was indeed sleeping--the sleep that knows no
waking.

Just at sunset, as the long summer day was dying, reading that
precious Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," the weary
traveler on life's long journey had finished his course and gone to
the rest that remaineth for the children of God. Beside him, he had
laid the Book; he would need it no more--he had gone to see the Savior
"face to face." He had taken off his spectacles--the eyes that had
needed them here would not need them in that world to which he had
gone. On his staff he leaned, In the old farmhouse, the home of many
years, and gently as a little child falls asleep in its mother's arms,
he had leaned on God and gone to the better Home.

A feeling of utter loneliness came over Job. The last strong tie was
broken. That night he walked over the old place in the dim light, and
felt that heaven was