Then David lifted up his dark eyes and smiled. Matilda had always known him a very grave boy; perhaps partly for that reason this smile seemed to her like a rift of light between clouds, so sweet and bright. It filled Matilda with so much awe that she did not open her lips all the way to the parsonage. Nor did Mr. Richmond say much.

They were in danger of being a silent party at tea, too; only I think the minister exerted himself to prevent it. Matilda had no words for anything, and indeed could hardly eat her supper; as often as she dared, she stole a look at David. For he did not look at all like himself. He was grave; to be sure that was like him; only now it was a new sort of high, sweet gravity, even gentle and humble in its seeming; and if he was silent, it was not that he was not ready and willing to speak when there was occasion. But Matilda guessed he had too much to think of to want to talk much. Norton was perhaps a little curious as to what there was between his three companions; and Miss Redwood was seldom free with her tongue in the minister's presence. Mr. Richmond, as I said, had to exert himself, or the silence of the tea-table would have been too marked.

They all went to church together. Matilda caught a look of extreme surprise on Norton's face when he saw that David was one of the party; but there was no time for explanations then. Little Matilda thought she had hardly ever been so happy in her life. In the old place, Mr.

Richmond preaching, and David and Norton beside her, one of them there in heart as well as in person. The singing was sweet, and the prayers were happy.

Coming back from church, Matilda and Norton fell a little behind the others.

"What's come over David Bartholomew?" Norton whispered. "Politeness?"

"O no, Norton; not politeness. He will tell you himself."

"Davy's strong on politeness," said Norton. "I didn't know but it was that. Politeness took _me;_ but of course, to take Davy, it would have to be a most extraordinary and uncommon sort of politeness. I can hardly believe my eyes yet."

"You always said Mr. Richmond was a brick, Norton," said Matilda.

"Yes, but you never heard me say David Bartholomew was another, did you?"

"Well, but he _is_, Norton."

"He _is!_ Phew! that's news."

They came to the parsonage door and Matilda could not reply. Going in, Mr. Richmond said to them that he had something to talk with David about, and that they must not sit up if they were tired. So he and David turned into the study, and Norton and Matilda went on into the dining-room, where Miss Redwood was sitting with her Bible. Then David's head was put into the room after them. "Tell Norton for me, please, Matilda," he said; and went back.

"Tell me what?" said Norton.

Matilda did not know how to begin.

"Well, you've got home," remarked the housekeeper closing her book.

"Was there many out?"

"Would have been more if you hadn't staid at home, Miss Redwood,"

Norton replied.

"When you're as old as I am, my young gentleman, you'll know that folks don't do things without reasons."

"Ah!" said Norton. "But are they always good reasons?"

"That's their own look out," said the housekeeper. "What did you go to church for this evening, for instance?"

"I've just been telling my sister," said Norton. "But what, in the name of Rabbi Solomon, and all the Rabbis, ever took David Bartholomew there?"

"Ain't he a Jew?" said the housekeeper.

"Of course he is. And he don't love Christians, I can tell you, except one here and there."

"He does now," said Matilda in a low voice.

"What?" said Norton.

"He loves Christians now, Norton. And he loves Jesus. He is a Christian himself."

"David Bartholomew a Christian!" exclaimed Norton.

Matilda nodded. Her eyes were full and her lips were trembling.

"I _thought_ there was something to pay," said the good housekeeper, whose eyes watered for company. But Norton was transfixed with astonishment.

"Pink, what do you mean?"

"It's true, Norton," said Matilda nodding again.

"What's made him?"

"He has been studying the Bible and the New Testament this long while.

Now, he says, he knows."

"And he means it!" said the housekeeper. "I can tell by the look of him."

"Means what?"

"He means what he says--whatever that is."

"But you said, you were thinking, something in particular, Miss Redwood."

"Yes; just what he was thinking," said the housekeeper. "He'll never be one o' those Christians that stand on one leg at a time; that's what I mean. Whoever wants to walk alongside of him, 'll have to step up to the mark."

Norton looked at her, in somewhat disdainful want of comprehension, and then turned to Matilda again.

"Pink, I don't believe a word of it!"

"Why, Norton, I heard him myself, all that he said."

"Mind, he may have found out that his famous old uncles of rabbis don't know anything; _that's_ very likely; but I don't believe David Bartholomew has given up being a Jew."

"Why he can't do that, Norton; he's born so; but he is a Christian too."

"A man can't be a Christian and a Jew too," said Norton.

"Miss Redwood, can't he?"

"I reckon it's difficult," said the good housekeeper; "and you may depend he's found that out; but he's found it's possible too. Why what 'ud become of all the Jewish nation if it warn't possible?"

"What should become of them?" Norton asked scornfully.

"Well, there's wonderful things about the Jews in the Bible," said the housekeeper rising; "if the minister was here he'd tell you. And there was an old promise to Abraham, that if I was you I wouldn't run against."

"Run against a promise to Abraham!" said Norton.