and to the house of the God of Jacob; and _he
will teach us_ of his ways, and we will walk in his paths.'--That is
it. If you are willing to walk in his paths, he will shew them to you."
Faith looked eagerly at the farmer, and he looked at her. Neither heart
was hid from the other.

"But supposin' I was willin'--which I be, so fur's I know--I don't know
what they be no more'n a child. How am I goin' to find 'em out?"

Faith's eyes filled quick as she turned over the leaves again;--was it
by sympathy alone that occasion came for the rough hand to pass once or
twice hastily across those that were looking at her? Without speaking,
Faith shewed him the words,--"If any man will do his will, he shall
know of the doctrine."

"That is the question, dear Mr. Simlins. On that 'if' it all hangs."
The farmer took the book into his own hands and sat looking steadily at
the words.

"Well," said he putting it back on her lap--"supposin' the 'if' 's all
right--Go ahead, Faith."

"Then the way is clear for you to do that; and it's all easy. But the
first thing is here--the invitation of Jesus himself."

"'Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and
lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is
easy, and my burden is light.'"

"You see," she went on very gently,--"he bids you _learn of him_--so he
is ready to teach you. If you are only willing to take his yoke upon
you,--to be his servant and own it,--he will shew you what to do, step
by step, and help you in every one."

"I don't see where's the beginning of the way yet," said the farmer.

"_That_," said Faith. "Be the servant of Jesus Christ and own it; and
then go to him for all you want. He is good for all."

There was a pause.

"I s'pose you've been goin' on in that way a good while."

"A good while--yes,"--Faith almost whispered.

"Well, when you are goin' to him sometimes, ask somethin' for me,--will
you?"

He had bent over, leaning on his knees, to speak it in a lower growl
than ordinary. Faith bowed her head at first, unwilling to speak; but
tears somehow started, and the drops followed each other, as she sat
gazing into the black fireplace,--she could not help it--till a perfect
shower of weeping brought her face into her hands and stirred her not
very strong frame. It stirred the farmer, robust as he was in spite of
illness; he shifted his chai