had entered the sorrowful drama. Out of
the whirlwind there came a Voice--the voice of the Infinite--and before
its thunder the souls of Job and his friends bowed in self-abasement.

The reading went on again, continuing uninterrupted to the end. The
man closed the Book, dropping it heavily upon the table.

"Is that all?" demanded Tim, fearing to be cheated out of one word of
the story.

"That is all," said John McIntyre in a whisper. He shaded his eyes
with his hand. What long, weary days and nights had passed over him
since he last looked into that Book! He had thought never to look into
it again, and yet its pages held their old convincing power. There was
still that magic touch that went straight to a man's heart, as only
God's word can. Job had suffered, had been bereft of all that made
life worth the holding, and yet he had garnered from the seed sown in
anguish, not bitterness and despair and hatred of God and man, but a
golden harvest of divine revelation, a wealth of eternal hope and joy:
"I know that my Redeemer liveth!"

When the eldest orphan started out for the Drowned Lands the next
evening he sighted the minister on the village street ahead of him. He
was about to hasten his footsteps to overtake him, when he noticed Mr.
Scott pause and speak to some one.

As the boy drew slowly near, he was amazed to see that it was Sandy
McQuarry. They seemed to be talking in quite a friendly tone, too,
while over at Long's store Tim's foster-father, and his enemy,
Spectacle John, and the blacksmith, were craning their necks through
the doorway, and apparently enjoying the scene. Sandy did not speak
long, but they parted with a hearty handshake.

"Hello!" cried the boy, coming up alongside the tall figure. The
orphans could never be accused of stiffness or formality.

"Hello!" cried the minister, with equal cordiality. His eyes were
shining, and he looked as though he had just received great and good
news.

"Ain't he mad at ye any more?" asked Tim, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder to indicate Sandy McQuarry, the way he had seen his father do.

The minister's eyes grew brighter. "No, Tim, he's not mad at me any
more, and, please God, he never will be."

"Did you take it back, what you said about Muskoka?"

"Well, yes, partly; but it wasn't that." The laughter lines were
deepening around the minister's eyes. "When you grow older you will
understand better. And how are you feeling to-night?