that I have a great deal more knowledge than
you; what if I should tell you that I don't believe this Bible?"

"O, Mas'r!" said Tom, holding up his hands, with a deprecating gesture.

"Wouldn't it shake your faith some, Tom?"

"Not a grain," said Tom.

"Why, Tom, you must know I know the most."

"O, Mas'r, haven't you jest read how he hides from the wise
and prudent, and reveals unto babes?  But Mas'r wasn't in earnest,
for sartin, now?" said Tom, anxiously.

"No, Tom, I was not.  I don't disbelieve, and I think there
is reason to believe; and still I don't.  It's a troublesome bad
habit I've got, Tom."

"If Mas'r would only pray!"

"How do you know I don't, Tom?"

"Does Mas'r?"

"I would, Tom, if there was anybody there when I pray; but it's
all speaking unto nothing, when I do.  But come, Tom, you pray now,
and show me how."

Tom's heart was full; he poured it out In prayer, like waters
that have been long suppressed.  One thing was plain enough;
Tom thought there was somebody to hear, whether there were or not. 
In fact, St. Clare felt himself borne, on the tide of his faith
and feeling, almost to the gates of that heaven he seemed so vividly
to conceive.  It seemed to bring him nearer to Eva.

"Thank you, my boy," said St. Clare, when Tom rose.  "I like
to hear you, Tom; but go, now, and leave me alone; some other
time, I'll talk more."

Tom silently left the room.



CHAPTER XXVIII

Reunion


Week after week glided away in the St. Clare mansion, and
the waves of life settled back to their usual flow, where that
little