"There was a stout branch of a tree near by. He placed it across the top of the hole. He would drop down into the well, and recover his hat, get a drink of water and draw himself up again. The well did not seem more than six feet deep, and with his arms extended he could easily reach the branch and draw himself up to safety. He dropped into the well, found his hat with its precious gold, drank some of the muddy water which, really, was then more precious to him than the metal, and looked up.

He extended his arms but they fell short some six feet of reaching the branch. He had under-estimated the depth of the well--it was fifteen instead of six feet.

"He would clamber up the sides, he would cut steps with his knife and make a ladder. The earth was soft, and crumbled beneath his weight. That mode of escape was impossible. He was a prisoner in a hole with only muddy water to sustain life for a short time, and no prospect of escape.

"Night came on. He looked up at the stars. They seemed no farther away than the top of the well.

"When a child he had been taught to say 'Our Father who art in Heaven,'

Did he have a Father in Heaven? Was Heaven where those stars were? Was that Father in Heaven the Being that folks called G.o.d?

"He fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke the stars were still shining, but no nearer than before.

"In his loneliness, in his despair, he cried, 'Oh, G.o.d, help me!' He covered his face with his hands and wept. He had forsaken the belief of a lifetime. He had acknowledged that there was a G.o.d!

"There was a rustling sound above him, and a heavy body fell to the bottom of the well. Some wild animal! He was unarmed with the exception of his hunting-knife. That was slight protection against a savage beast, but he would defend himself to the last.

"He listened. The animal, whatever it was, was breathing, but it did not move. Perhaps it was stunned by the fall, but would soon revive.

He would kill it. A few firm blows and the beast was dead. It did not breathe. Its body was losing its warmth. He was safe from that danger.

"He slept again. When he awoke the sun was high. Beside him was the dead body of a mountain lion.

"He drank some more of the muddy water. He was so hungry. Was there no means of escape? Must he die there with that dead lion for a companion?

"He had an inspiration. With his knife he cut the lion's hide into strips. He tied these together until he had a rope. He threw it over the branch and drew himself up. The Earth looked so bright and cheerful. He threw himself upon his knees and thanked G.o.d for his deliverance. He was an educated 'fool' no longer. He had found G.o.d in that pool of muddy water, and G.o.d had sent a lion to deliver him.

"How do I know that the story I have told you is true? Richard returned to his father's home. He went back to college and entered the divinity school. He became a clergyman, and he has preached to you, to-day, from the text, 'The Fool hath said in his heart that there is no G.o.d!'"

CHAPTER X

THE RAISED CHECK

The Rev. Mr. Gay's parishioners looked at him in astonishment. He had disbelieved in G.o.d but had been converted in what seemed a miraculous manner. And yet, perhaps, after all, it was only a coincidence. Alice felt sure that Uncle Ike would be of that opinion.

The pastor, as soon as he had made his sensational declaration, said "Let us pray." His appeal was for those who doubted--that G.o.d would open their eyes--but not as his had been--to acknowledge his power and mercy.

Then followed "Old Hundred."

"Praise G.o.d from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him all creatures here below."

A benediction, and the service was over.

There were seats for four in the carryall. Maude preferred to walk and Mr. Merry was of the same mind. Mrs. Hawkins sat with Quincy on the front seat, and Alice with Uncle Ike.

"What did you think of the sermon, Uncle Ike?" Alice asked.

"A thrilling personal experience. The fear of death has a peculiar effect on some people--it kills their will power. Did Mr. Gay know that I was to attend his church?"

Alice flushed. "Quincy mentioned it at the breakfast table."

"Was he informed of my opinions on religious matters?"

"They were not mentioned before him."

"Another coincidence"--and Uncle Ike relapsed into silence.

As they were nearing the Maxwell house, Alice asked, "Uncle Ike, are you willing to have Mr. Gay call upon you?"

"I have no objection, if he will let me choose the subjects for conversation," was the reply.

In the evening Maude and Mr. Merry walked to the Willows and back.

"Have you become a matchmaker?" Alice asked her husband.

"What prompts the question?"

"Maude and Mr. Merry have been thrown together very much. You approve of you would prevent their intimacy."

Quincy laughed. "Maude undoubtedly has a heart, but she doesn't know where it is. Mr. Merry is too sensible a fellow to imagine Maude will fall in love with him, or that he could support her if she did."

"Poor logic, Quincy. Such marriages take place often, but unless they are followed with parental blessings,--and financial backing,--seldom prove successful.

"Well, the intimacy will end to-morrow morning. He will return to the city, and, probably, never see her again."

"I've no objection to Mr. Merry. I consider him a very fine young man. I was thinking of Maude's happiness."

Mr. Merry did return to Boston early the next morning, and, to all appearances, Miss Sawyer looked upon his action as a very natural one, and one in which she was not particularly interested. If she had any secret thoughts concerning him they were driven from her mind by the receipt of a telegram just as they sat down to dinner.

"REDFORD, Ma.s.s., July 2, 187--.

"MAUDE SAWYER, Care of Q. A. Sawyer, "Fernborough, via Cottonton.

"Do please come home at once. Something terrible has happened. FLORENCE."

"What can it be? What do you think is the matter? The message is so inexplicit."

Her brother replied, "Florence evidently is living, unless some one used her name in the telegram. If father or mother were sick or dead she certainly would have said so."

"Perhaps not," said Maude. "She might wish to break the news gently, in person."

"I am willing to wager," said Quincy, "that the trouble affects her more than any one else. But you must go, Maude, and Alice and I will go with you, by the first train to-morrow morning."

Quincy had Andrew get the carryall ready and he and Alice went round to say good-bye. He told Arthur Scates he would come or send for him soon, and that his grandmother could go and help Mrs. Pettingill.

Andrew was told to return the saddle to Cottonton, and Quincy decided that they would go to Boston by way of Eastborough Centre, so Mr.

Parsons could be informed that they were through with the saddle horses. They found Uncle Ike fully committed to the idea of founding the hospital. He had seen Squire Rundlett, who was drawing up his will. The goodbye seemed more like a farewell in Uncle Ike's case, for he had aged much in the last year and was really very feeble. Alice told him that Mr. Gay had promised to call upon him in a few days.

When they reached Boston, Quincy said: