ver thought before," was the half-abstracted answer.

"You felt good in the desert?" The other hung his head in shame.

"Makes you seem pretty small, doesn't it? You didn't stay long enough,
I guess, to get what you were feeling for; you started in on the new
racket too soon. You never got really possessed that you was a sinner. I
expect that's it."

The other made no reply.

"Well, I don't know much about such things. I was loose brought up; but
I've a friend"--Laura was before his eyes--"that says religion's all
right, and long ago as I can remember my mother used to pray three times
a day--with grace at meals, too. I know there's a lot in it for them
that need it; and there seems to be a lot of folks needing it, if I'm
to judge by folks down there at Jansen, specially when there's the
laying-on of hands and the Healing Springs. Oh, that was a pigsty game,
Scranton, that about God giving you the Healing Springs, like Moses and
the rock! Why, I discovered them springs myself two years ago, before I
went South, and I guess God wasn't helping me any--not after I've kept
out of His way as I have. But, anyhow, religion's real; that's my sense
of it; and you can get it, I bet, if you try. I've seen it got. A friend
of mine got it--got it under your preaching; not from you; but you
was the accident that brought it about, I expect. It's funny--it's
merakilous, but it's so. Kneel down!" he added, with peremptory
suddenness. "Kneel, Scranton!"

In fear the other knelt.

"You're going to get religion now--here. You're going to pray for what
you didn't get--and almost got--in the desert. You're going to ask
forgiveness for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for
the spirit to come down. You ain't a scoundrel at heart--a friend of
mine says so. You're a weak vessel, cracked, perhaps. You've got to
be saved, and start right over again--and 'Praise God from whom all
blessings flow!' Pray--pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth, and
get it--get religion. Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out loud.
Remember the desert, and Mary Jewell, and your mother--did you have a
mother, Scranton--say, did you have a mother, lad?"

Tim's voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer
had broken down in a torrent of tears.

"Oh, my mother--O God!" he groaned.

"Say, that's right--that's right--go on," said the other, and drew back
a little, and sat down on a log. The man on his knees was convulsed w