"Ah, Tom, is that you?"

"Yes," answered the young man, diffidently; "Mr. Payson said you wished to see me."

"Yes, walk in this way;" and Mr. Cowles returned to the home-room, followed by Tom.

"Do you know why I sent for you?" asked the grocer.

"No, sir."

"Well, I had a little private matter that I wished to talk with you about; but I'm hungry as a bear, and if you'll do me the favor to drink a cup of tea with me, I'll try to explain."

Tom had ever shrunk from contact with this man, and marvelled much at finding himself his guest. Yet a cosy sitting down together they had, Tom's host being singularly attentive to him, while they partook of the nice edibles.

"Tom," said the grocer, as they sat back from the table, "I've heard good accounts of you;" and his voice grew soft and tremulous; "and I'm really glad of it. And I've had an eye on you myself quite a while; and, bad as they say old Cowles is, I like to see others do well. You stuck by your folks when you wished to go off; that's right.

You made the most of your schooling; that's in your favor. You are an honest, right-minded lad, aiming to be, I suspect, some such a man as that missionary."

Tom's surprise grew apace. How did this rough, swearing, covetous dealer ferret out his heart's secrets?

"You wished to go from home to study, but, like a true son, staid by to help the family. That must have been a great self-denial to you; was it not?"

"Yes," faltered Tom.

"Of course it was. But how did you manage to give it up so bravely?"

"Mother advised me to pray about it, and I did."

"Do you think it does any good to pray?" asked the grocer.

"O, yes, indeed. I couldn't live without prayer, it helps me so much."

"But," objected his questioner, "do you imagine that the great G.o.d cares enough about our little affairs to answer the trifling requests we may make of him?"

"I do, sir," replied Tom, with glowing cheeks and tearful eyes; "I have known him to do so many and many a time."

"Perhaps you were deceived."

"O," cried Tom, "if you had been in the missionary's family as much as I have, and heard him pray for things, and then see just what he asked for come into the house almost before he arose from his knees, you could not doubt that G.o.d had heard him. Why, sir, how do you suppose he has managed to get along on the little that the settlers have paid him, unless it has been in answer to prayer?"

"I am sure he must have been pinched," answered the money-lender, moving uneasily.

"I would like to relate an instance or two," continued Tom, "if it would not be--"

"No, no, it won't be disagreeable to me; but I have not time to hear it now. I believe all you say. I tell you what it is, young man," he added, rising and pacing the floor, deeply agitated, "I know more about these matters than folks think. There's my brother; he's a Methodist minister, just like this missionary about praying. He's often prayed for me, and says he has the evidence that I shall be converted, and become a preacher."

"Perhaps you will," earnestly remarked Tom; "you have ability enough to do a great deal of good."

"So he says. What if it should come about! How strange it would seem for a cursing old sinner like me to preach and pray as that missionary does! They call me a _hard_ man. But what can I do? Don't I inform every soul that asks me for money that he's a fool, and that I shall hold him to the writing? I get their lands, it is true; but if I did not, somebody else would. Why, they mortgage all they have, and then buy the highest priced goods in the store. I've no patience with such folks, and they don't get much mercy from me."

"But," bluntly said Tom, "I can't see how another's wrong-doing justifies ours."

"That's so," he returned, gloomily. "But I've a different sort of business to transact with you, than to defend my misdeeds. That missionary has been making me a pastoral visit, and he took it upon himself to inform me that the Lord has called you to preach the gospel, and that it is my duty to furnish money to send you off to college, or some such place, where they grind out ministers."

"Me!" exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet.

"Yes, you; sit down, sit down, young man, and be calm;" and the grocer, in his own excitement, gesticulated violently with both arms at once. "He says that I'm the only man here that has the money to do this. Pretty cool--isn't it?--to dictate to old Cowles, the miserly money-grabber, in that way. I just turned on my heel, and left him in the middle of his ordering; but, you see, I couldn't help thinking about it night and day. I wouldn't wonder if that meddling missionary had been praying about it all the while; and the result is, the old money-lender is going to give you a lift, my boy. We, hackneyed, hopeless old reprobates, need just such preachers as the missionary's famous seminary is going to make out of you; and I invited you here to say that you can depend on me for two hundred dollars in gold to start with, and as much more each year, till you graduate, as the missionary says you need. When old Cowles begins to do a thing, mind you, he never does it by halves."

"But," said Tom, choking with joy and wonder, "how shall I pay you?"

"Pay! pay!" roared the grocer, his eyes shooting flame; then, suddenly waxing tender, the tears extinguishing the fire-flashes, "if you will pray for a poor old rebel like me, it is all the pay I want."

Then, going into the entry, he called,--

"Johnson! Johnson!"

"Here, sir," said a voice; and the dapper little tailor, who rented a window in the store, made his appearance.

"Measure this young man for a suit of clothes," said the grocer; "and mind and give him a genteel fit, that will do for him in the best circles east."

CHAPTER XXIII.

AN ENCHANTING SCENE.--THE PARTING.

"The hearth is swept, the fire is made, The kettle sings for tea."

It was the clear, honest voice of Deacon Palmer that fell on Tom's ear, and which he now heard for the hundredth time. Year in and out, at morning and night, the good man had sung this, his favorite song,--bachelor though he was, with silver-streaked hair,--as if his heart yearned for the wifely waiting, and the sweet home-joys it pictured. Why were they not his? Do all have their longings for something brighter and better than the present brings? something for which they must wait and wait, and perchance never attain?

Tom knocked modestly at the storekeeper's door. A moment, and the money-lender opened it, saying, heartily,--

"Walk in; walk in!"

"No, I thank you," answered Tom; "I called to say, that as I am to start on Monday to begin study at the east,"--and the young man's tones grew tremulous,--"General and Mrs. McElroy and mother are to be at the missionary's to-day, and they desire the pleasure of your company at dinner."

"Well, well, young man, you _have_ brought a message--haven't you?"

exclaimed the grocer, fidgeting about. "A pretty mixed-up company that would be--wouldn't it? Old Cowles sitting down to table with a minister of the gospel, and a student for that sacred calling, and such like folks. No, no; that wouldn't be consistent. Tell them that I am much obliged, but--"

"Now, Mr. Cowles," exclaimed Tom, seizing his hand, "you must come. I shall feel dreadfully hurt if you refuse,--and they all want you to so much. And, you know that if it was not for your kindness--"

"There, there, boy," interrupted the storekeeper, his black eyes flashing through tears, "don't talk in that way. All is, if it will please you, I'll come. But how do you go to the river, Monday?"

"O, the missionary is to get a team."

"Well, just say to him that my horses are at his service."

We will not dwell upon the dinner in the log-cabin parsonage, during which "irrepressible" Bub--his clerical tastes sharpened by Tom's example--took clandestine possession of the attic study, and, const.i.tuting himself preacher, audience, and choir, undertook to conduct divine service. Having given out the first hymn, he drowned the missionary's words, as the latter said grace, by stoutly singing,--