ugh his merits and intercession if we conform to
his precepts--whether members of the Church of England, or any other
communion--we shall be saved and obtain the blessedness of heaven? We
may prefer, and reasonably prefer, our own mode of worship, believing it
to be most edifying; but we have no right to quarrel with those who
conscientiously differ from us about outward forms and ceremonies which
do not involve the spirit of Christianity."

After a pause, Mary Percival said, "Malachi, tell us more about your
father and your family."

"I have little to tell, miss; only that I now think that those were
pleasant days which then I thought irksome. My father had a large farm
and would have had us all remain with him. In the winter we felled
timber, and I took quite a passion for a hunter's life; but my father
would not allow me to go from home, so I staid till he died, and then I
went away on my rambles. I left when I was not twenty years old, and I
have never seen my family since. I have been a hunter and a trapper, a
guide and a soldier, and an interpreter; but for the last twenty-five
years I have been away from towns and cities, and have lived altogether
in the woods. The more man lives by himself, the more he likes it, and
yet now and then circumstances bring up the days of his youth, and make
him hesitate whether it be best or not to live alone."

"I am glad to hear you say that, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell.

"I little thought that I should ever have said it," replied the old man,
"when I first saw that girl by the side of the stream (looking at
Emma),--then my heart yearned toward the boy; and now this meeting to
praise God and to keep Christmas-day--all has helped."

"But do you not pray when you are alone?" said Mary.

"Yes, in a manner, miss; but it's not like your prayers; the lips don't
move, although the heart feels. When I lie under a tree watching for the
animals, and I take up a leaf and examine it, I observe how curious and
wonderful it is,--I then think that God made it, and that man could not.
When I see the young grass springing up, and _how_, I know not, except
that it does so every year, I think of God and his mercy to the wild
animals in giving them food; and then the sun reminds me of God; and the
moon, and the stars, as I watch, make me think of Him; but I feel very
often that there is something wanting, and that I do not worship exactly
as I ought to do. I never have known which is Sunday, alt