brought him into our
barn to-night, and You'll see him through. Oh, God, for Jesus' sake,
help Ben Peters. Amen.

"Now, what shall I do?" she wondered.

"What's your father for?" She looked quickly at Ben Peters. He had not
spoken, but something certainly had asked, "What's your father for?"

"You stay here, Ben, and pray for yourself, and I'll send father out.
I'm not just sure what to say next, and father'll finish you up. You
pray for all you're worth."

She was gone in a flash, through the kitchen, through the hall, up the
stairs two at a time, and her arm thrown closely about her father's
shoulder.

"Oh, father, I got stuck," she wailed. "I'm so ashamed of myself. But
you can finish him off, can't you? I honestly believe he's started."

He took her firmly by the arms and squared her around on his lap. "One,
two, three, ready, go. Now, what?"

"Ben Peters. He was drunk in the barn and I took him into the woodshed
and gave him some hot coffee,--and some religion, but not enough to hurt
him. I told him he had to get converted, and he said he would. So I told
him about it, but you'd better tell him again, for I'm afraid I made
quite a mess of it. And then we prayed, and I was stuck for fair,
father, for I couldn't think what to do next. But I do believe it was
God who said, 'What's your father for?' And so I left him praying for
himself, and--you'd better hurry, or he may get cold feet and run away.
Be easy with him, father, but don't let him off. This is the first
chance we've ever had at Ben Peters, and God'll never forgive us if we
let him slip through our fingers."

Carol was dumped off on to the floor and her father was half-way down
the stairs before she caught her breath. Then she smiled. Then she
blushed.

"That was one bad job," she said to herself sadly. "I'm a disgrace to
the Methodist church. Thank goodness the trustees'll never hear of it.
I'll bribe Ben Peters to eternal silence if I have to do it with
kisses." Then her face grew very soft. "Poor old man! Oh, the poor old
man!" A quick rush of tears blinded her eyes, and her throat throbbed.
"Oh, why do they,--what makes men like that? Can't they see, can't they
know, how awful they are, how--" She shuddered. "I can't see for the
life of me what makes God treat us decently at all." Her face brightened
again. "I was a bad job, all right, but I feel kind of pleased about it.
I hope father won't mention it to the girls."

And Ben Peters truly ha