e beach. "The
little girls were asleep, and I came here to listen to the folks
sing. That's the reason I haven't driven on to-day, because I hoped
the folks would sing again to-night, the way they did last night. I
haven't heard hymn-singing for years, before. I've lived in mining
and such places. I want to ask you a question."

The woman paused.

"Do you suppose my baby's at the River?" she went on.

Addie hardly comprehended the woman's meaning.

"What river?" asked the girl.

"The River they sang about last night," explained the woman.

She motioned toward the group at the distant camp-fire, and Addie
remembered that on the previous evening the people had sung:

"Shall we gather at the river?"

"I haven't heard that sung before for years and years," the woman
continued. "We used to sing it when I was a little girl at home in
the East, but I've mostly forgot such things. Mining camps and a
drunk husband make you forget. There never was a church anywhere we
lived, and Sam got drunk Sundays. And then he died. I don't suppose
Sam got to the River. I don't know. I wish he did. But if my baby's
got there, I want to go to the River."

The woman began to sob.

"I never told you about my baby." she faltered. "He was a dreadful
nice little--"

"Good-morning!" said Mrs. Weeks pleasantly.

"--baby. I've got some of his things in a little box in the wagon. He
died after his father did. I wouldn't feel acquainted with the
saints that the folks sang gather at the River; but I'd feel
acquainted with my baby. He's there, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Addie softly, "your baby's by the River, and you can go
there, too."

The woman tried to control her sobs and listen, while Addie told in
as simple language as she could the way to peace.

"It's just coming to Christ, just as we are, and asking him to make
us his," finished the girl. "He's promised to forgive, if we're in
earnest about asking."

Addie waited a moment.

"Maybe you'd be willing to come to the camp-fire with me," suggested
Addie. "Those people are only, some of our neighbors. They like
these open-air meetings. Perhaps they'd make the way clearer to
you."

"No," said the woman hastily. "No, I'm not fit for such folks, but
would you mind doing one thing for me? Will you go back and just sit
down, careless like, on one of the logs there by the fire, as if
you'd got back from going down to see the breakers roll in, the way
some of the folks do? And don't let