rresistibly touching. Moses grasped
the dry, withered hand and said, "Thank you, thank you, Captain
Kittridge; you're a true friend."

"Wal', I be, that's a fact, Moses. Lord bless me, I ain't no great--I
ain't nobody--I'm jest an old last-year's mullein-stalk in the Lord's
vineyard; but that 'ere blessed little thing allers had a good word for
me. She gave me a hymn-book and marked some hymns in it, and read 'em to
me herself, and her voice was jest as sweet as the sea of a warm
evening. Them hymns come to me kind o' powerful when I'm at my work
planin' and sawin'. Mis' Kittridge, she allers talks to me as ef I was a
terrible sinner; and I suppose I be, but this 'ere blessed child, she's
so kind o' good and innocent, she thinks I'm good; kind o' takes it for
granted I'm one o' the Lord's people, ye know. It kind o' makes me want
to be, ye know."

The Captain here produced from his coat-pocket a much worn hymn-book,
and showed Moses where leaves were folded down. "Now here's this 'ere,"
he said; "you get her to say it to you," he added, pointing to the
well-known sacred idly which has refreshed so many hearts:--

"There is a land of pure delight
Where saints immortal reign;
Eternal day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.

"There everlasting spring abides,
And never-fading flowers;
Death like a narrow sea divides
This happy land from ours."

"Now that ar beats everything," said the Captain, "and we must kind o'
think of it for her, 'cause she's goin' to see all that, and ef it's our
loss it's her gain, ye know."

"I know," said Moses; "our grief is selfish."

"Jest so. Wal', we're selfish critters, we be," said the Captain; "but
arter all, 't ain't as ef we was heathen and didn't know where they was
a-goin' to. We jest ought to be a-lookin' about and tryin' to foller
'em, ye know."

"Yes, yes, I do know," said Moses; "it's easy to say, but hard to do."

"But law, man, she prays for you; she did years and years ago, when you
was a boy and she a girl. You know it tells in the Revelations how the
angels has golden vials full of odors which are the prayers of saints. I
tell ye Moses, you ought to get into heaven, if no one else does. I
expect you are pretty well known among the angels by this time. I tell
ye what 'tis, Moses, fellers think it a mighty pretty thing to be
a-steppin' high, and a-sayin' they don't believe the Bible, and all that
ar, so long as the