kept her back. She
had wept so violently that when Tiny spoke to her and said, "What is
it?" she could not answer him. But at length, while he waited so
patiently, she made a great effort, and controlled herself and said, "My
mother!"

That was all she said--and Tiny asked no more. He knew that some great
grief had fallen on her--that was all he needed to know; he laid his
hand in hers, and turned away before she could thank him, but he left
with her a word that he had spoken which had power to comfort her long
after the money he gave her was all gone--long after the day when her
poor mother had no more need for bread. "When my father and mother
forsake me, then the Lord will lift me up." That was what he whispered
to her as he left her.

And thus he went through that crowd of miserable people, comforting them
all. But it was remarkable how much more value the poor folks seemed to
put upon his word than they did upon the money he gave them, much as
they stood in need of that! I wonder if you ever thought about the
wonderful power there is in words?

At length, when the purse was empty, he stood alone in the midst of the
circle of rich men who had given him the silver to distribute as he
would. Then the man who handed him the purse went up and said to Tiny,
"Poet, come home with me. You are come at last! the city ought to be
illuminated--we have stood so long in need of you, expecting you."

So Tiny, believing what the rich man said, went home with the stranger--
and for a long time he abode in that house.

And rich men feasted Tiny, and taught him to drink wine: and great men
praised him, and flattered him till he believed that their praise was
precious above all things, and that he could not live without it! Was
not that absurd? Nay, children, was not that most terrible, that our
dear Tiny should ever have been tempted to believe such wicked trash and
falsehood! He, too, who was to sing that sweet and holy New Song to the
Lord!

They surrounded him day and night, these rich, gay men, and these great
men, and they fed upon the delicious thoughts he gave them, and they
kept him in such a whirl of pleasure that he had no time to work for the
poor, and hardly any time to think of them--excepting at the dead of
night, when he sometimes fancied or dreamed that the old pilgrim owner
of the harp had come, or would come quickly, and take it away from him.
At these times poor Tiny would make excellent resolut