scovered the
strange wood-guest.

Ah! it was only an old man, a pauper, or next door to one, whom he had
frequently seen before, breaking stones by the highway.

But what was the deaf old man about? "_Praying!_" With his eyes shut,
and his head uplifted, and his hat just taken off, held in his
toil-swollen fingers, while before him was spread out his dinner--a
piece of dry bread, part of a small loaf, and a can of water by his
side--bread and water, nothing else; but the old man was thanking God
for it, and was content. _More than content._ An expression of happy
praise was on his uplifted face. Such an expression the squire had not
seen on any face at his own loaded table for many years. And he was
thanking God for bread and water, and was happy! The old man was a
sincere Christian.

The richest man in the parish did not understand how, when the soul
loves God, the least mercies from his hands are felt to be priceless
blessings; how bread and water, with a thankful heart, are sweeter to
the taste than any food without it; and he felt humiliated. What right
had that old man to thank God for bread and water, when _he_ never
thanked him for all his great possessions?

The woods closed in on him again, he left the stone-breaker behind,
and his face soon assumed its usual self-satisfied expression. But
during that morning's ride, again and again returned to him the
picture he had seen in the green hollow, of the man who had thanked
God for bread and water, and the thought of his own great riches did
not give him quite its usual satisfaction. Had those riches ever made
him as happy as that old man looked to be over his poor meal? He was
obliged to confess to himself that they had not, and it was to him a
sad confession. His pride was sorely touched, and his heart
disquieted, and the farther he rode, the more he felt a sense of
discomfort and discontent, that was strangely new to him.

Presently the bright sun became overcast, great clouds gathered, and
the woods looked dark and gloomy. Dandy walked along untroubled by
nervous fears and fancies, but an influence came over the squire for
which he could not account. A strange sinking was at his heart, and an
impression of coming calamity. Then a voice struck his inward ear, a
voice not of this world, one of those voices God sends sometimes to be
heard for our good and guidance, and the words it uttered were
terrible to him. That voice spoke to him clearly and distinctly,