esson. Certainly I felt better within my own heart for that
instant of communion under the paling stars.

My head was yet bowed over the gunwale when the heavy footsteps of the
Puritan sounded close at hand. I could not fail to remark a softness
in his deep voice as he spoke, resting one hand upon my shoulder.

"Thou knowest not, friend Benteen, how it gladdens my old heart to find
thee before the throne of grace. I fear thou art not greatly
accustomed to look up unto God in time of trouble, yet doing so can
never weaken thy arm for the moment of trial. Acknowledge the Lord of
Hosts, nor dream thou wilt ever prove less of a man because thy heart
responds to His many mercies."

"You speak truly," I returned soberly, feeling a new respect for him in
that hour. "There is no better way in which to start the day; and,
unless my eyes deceive me, this bids fair to prove a day of sore trial.
Have you looked to the damage done the boat?"

"Nay," he returned earnestly, bending low to examine the rent. "I
slept like a man in drink, and even now am scarcely well awakened. 'T
is, indeed, a serious break, friend; one, I fear, which will prove
beyond our remedying."

"Have you skill with tools?"

"It is one of my gifts; yet of what use in the wilderness where tools
are not to be found? However, I will see what may be done, after we
break our fast--there is little accomplished working on an empty
stomach."

It was a morning of sorrowful labor; from the beginning a perfectly
hopeless one. The planking had been so badly crushed that a portion
was actually ground into powder, leaving a great gaping hole. To patch
this we possessed no tool to shape the wood properly, or, indeed, any
wood to shape, except the seats of the oarsmen. Nor did we possess
nails. More than one expedient was resorted to with bits of canvas,
wooden pegs, or whatsoever else we could lay hands upon, but our
efforts resulted each time in sickening failure. At last, long before
the sun had attained the zenith, the old preacher looked up,
disappointment written on every line of his rough face, to say grimly:

"We waste toil, friends; the boat floats no more for all our labors.
Nor do I deem it the will of the Lord we longer continue to wear
ourselves out in vain effort to undo His work."

He wiped the beads of perspiration from his low forehead, pushing his
hand through his matted hair.

"Were it not for the woman," he added more cheerfully, "the