tre of the field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough
for a shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had been built of
discarded things, scraps and fragments of other buildings, put
together with care and pains, by some one who had tried to make the
most of cast-off material. There was something pitiful and shamefaced
about the hut. It shrank and drooped in its barren field, and seemed
to cling only by sufferance to the edge of the splendid city.

"This," said the Keeper of the Gate, standing still and speaking with
a low, distinct voice--"this is your mansion, John Weightman."

An almost intolerable shock of grieved wonder and indignation choked
the man for a moment so that he could not say a word. Then he turned
his face away from the poor little hut and began to remonstrate
eagerly with his companion.

"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must be in error about this. There
is something wrong--some other John Weightman--a confusion of
names--the book must be incorrect."

"There is no mistake," said the Keeper of the Gate very calmly; "here
is your name, the record of your title and your possessions in this
place."

"But how could such a house be prepared for me," cried the man with a
resentful tremor in his voice--"for me, after my long and faithful
service? Is this a suitable mansion for one so well known and devoted?
Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why have you not built it large
and fair, like the others?"

"That is all the material you sent us."

"What!"

"We have used all the material that you sent us," repeated the Keeper
of the Gate.

"Now I know that you are mistaken," cried the man with growing
earnestness, "for all my life long I have been doing things that must
have supplied you with material. Have you not heard that I have built
a school-house; the wing of a hospital; two--yes, three--small
churches, and the greater part of a large one, the spire of St.
Petro----"

The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand.

"Wait," he said; "we know all these things. They were not ill done.
But they were all marked and used as foundations for the name and
mansion of John Weightman in the world. Did you not plan them for
that?"

"Yes," answered the man, confused and taken aback, "I confess that I
thought often of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was set upon that
too much. But there are other things--my endowment for the college--my
steady and liberal contributions to all the established charities--my
suppo