There was a thrilling silence, during which one might almost have heard the boys' hearts beat as the doctor paused, and with his piercing eyes glanced up and down the long rows of awe-stricken boys. For a moment no one moved. Then there was a stir, a shuffling of feet, and Regie Selwyn, with cheeks aflame, rose slowly in his seat, and said in a low but distinct voice:

"I have, sir."

A gleam of joy flashed in the doctor's dark eyes as he looked toward the speaker, but he said nothing. Then another and another rose and made a like confession, until some six in all had thus acknowledged their fault. There was no mistaking the pleasure that shone in the master's face at this answer to his appeal. When it became clear that, however many more might be no less guilty, no more were going to confess it, he spoke again:

"While it grieves me to know that the use of translations has been so extensive, I am also glad to find that so many of my boys possess the true spirit of manliness. I ask them to promise me that they will never look at those books again, and if there be others in the school who might have admitted the same impropriety, but have not, I appeal to you to show by your contempt of such helps your determination that nothing but what is honest, fair, and manly shall characterise the actions of the scholars of this school."

And with this the doctor resumed his seat.



CHAPTER XXVII.

ABOUT LITERATURE AND LAW.

Five years had passed since Cuthbert Lloyd's name was first inscribed in the big register on Dr. Johnston's desk, and he had been surely, steadily rising to the proud position of being the first boy in the school, the "dux," as the doctor with his love for the classics preferred to call it.

And yet there were some branches of study that he still seemed unable to get a good hold upon, or make satisfactory progress with. One of these was algebra. For some reason or other, the hidden principles of this puzzling science eluded his grasp, as though a and x had been eels of phenomenal activity. He tried again and again to pierce the obscurity that enshrouded them, but at best with imperfect success; and it was a striking fact that he should, term after term, carry off the arithmetic prize by splendid scores, and yet be ingloriously beaten at algebra.

Another subject that became a great bugbear to him was what was known as composition. On Fridays the senior boys were required to bring an original composition, covering at least two pages of letter paper, upon any subject they saw fit. This requirement made that day "black Friday" for Bert and many others besides. The writing of a letter or composition is probably the hardest task that can be set before a schoolboy. It was safe to say that in many cases a whipping would be gratefully preferred. But for the disgrace of the thing, Bert would certainly rather at any time have taken a mild whipping than sit down and write an essay.

At the first, taking pity upon his evident helplessness, Mr. Lloyd gave him a good deal of assistance, or allowed Mary—the ever-willing and ever-helpful Mary—to do so. But after a while he thought Bert should run alone, and prohibited further aid. Thus thrown upon his own resources, the poor fellow struggled hard, to very little purpose. Even when his father gave him a lift to the extent of suggesting a good theme, he found it almost impossible to write anything about it.

One Friday he went without having prepared a composition. He hoped that Dr. Johnston would just keep him in after school for a while, or give him an "imposition" of fifty lines of Virgil to copy as a penalty, and that that would be an end of the matter. But, as it turned out, the doctor thought otherwise. When Bert presented no composition he inquired if he had any excuse, meaning a note from his father asking that he be excused this time. Bert answered that he had not.

"Then," said Dr. Johnston, sternly, "you must remain in after school until your composition is written."

Bert was a good deal troubled by this unexpected penalty, but there was of course no appeal from the master's decision. The school hours passed, three o'clock came, and all the scholars save those who were kept in for various shortcomings went joyfully off to their play, leaving the big, bare, dreary room to the doctor and his prisoners. Then one by one, as they met the conditions of their sentence, or made up their deficiencies in work, they slipped quietly away, and ere the old yellow-faced clock solemnly struck the hour of four, Bert was alone with the grim and silent master.

He had not been idle during that hour. He had made more than one attempt to prepare some sort of a composition, but both ideas and words utterly failed him. He could not even think of a subject, much less cover two pages of letter paper with comments upon it. By four o'clock despair had settled down upon him, and he sat at his desk doing nothing, and waiting he hardly knew for what.

Another hour passed, and still Bert had made no start, and still the doctor sat at his desk absorbed in his book and apparently quite oblivious of the boy before him. Six o'clock drew near, and with it the early dusk of an autumn evening. Bert was growing faint with hunger, and, oh! so weary of his confinement. Not until it was too dark to read any longer did Dr. Johnston move; and then, without noticing Bert, he went down the room, and disappeared through the door that led into his own apartments.

"My gracious!" exclaimed Bert, in alarm. "Surely he is not going to leave me here all alone in the dark. I'll jump out of the window if he does."

But that was not the master's idea, for shortly he returned with two candles, placed one on either side of Bert's desk, then went to his desk, drew forth the long, black strap, whose cruel sting Bert had not felt for years, and standing in front of the quaking boy, looking the very type of unrelenting sternness, said:

"You shall not leave your seat until your composition is finished, and if you have not made a beginning inside of five minutes you may expect punishment."

So saying, he strode off into the darkness, and up and down the long room, now filled with strange shadows, swishing the strap against the desks as he passed to and fro. Bert's feelings may be more easily imagined than described. Hungry, weary, frightened, he grasped his pen with trembling fingers, and bent over the paper.

For the first minute or two not a word was written. Then, as if struck by some happy thought, he scribbled down a title quickly and paused. In a moment more he wrote again, and soon one whole paragraph was done.

The five minutes having elapsed, the doctor emerged from the gloom and came up to see what progress had been made. He looked over Bert's shoulder at the crooked lines that straggled over half the page, but he could not have read more than the title, when the shadows of the great empty room were startled by a peal of laughter that went echoing through the darkness, and clapping the boy graciously upon his back, the master said:

"That will do, Lloyd. The title is quite sufficient. You may go now;" for he had a keen sense of humour and a thorough relish of a joke, and the subject selected by Bert was peculiarly appropriate, being "Necessity is the Mother of Invention."

Mr. Lloyd was so delighted with Bert's ingenuity that thenceforth he gave him very effective assistance in the preparation of his weekly essays, and they were no longer the bugbear that they had been.

It was not long after this that Bert had an experience with the law not less memorable.

In an adjoining street, there lived a family by the name of Dodson, that possessed a very large, old, and cross Newfoundland dog, which had, by its frequent exhibitions of ill-temper, become quite a nuisance to the neighbourhood. They had often been spoken to about their dog's readiness to snap at people, but had refused to chain him up, or send him away, because they had a lively aversion to small boys, and old Lion was certainly successful in causing them to give the Dodson premises a wide berth.

One afternoon Bert and Frank were going along the street playing catch with a ball the former had just purchased, when, as they passed the Dodson house, a wild throw from Frank sent the ball out of Bert's reach, and it rolled under the gate of the yard. Not thinking of the irascible Lion in his haste to recover the ball, Bert opened the gate, and the moment he did so, with a fierce growl the huge dog sprang at him and fastened his teeth in his left cheek.

Bert shrieked with fright and pain, and in an instant Frank was beside him, and had his strong hands tight round Lion's throat. Immediately the old dog let Bert go, and slunk off to his kennel, while Frank, seizing his handkerchief, pressed it to the ugly wound in Bert's cheek. Great though the pain was, Bert quickly regained his self-possession, and hastening home had his wounds covered with plaster. Fortunately, they were not in any wise serious. They bled a good deal, and they promised to spoil his beauty for a time at least, but, as there was no reason to suppose that the dog was mad, that was the worst of them.

Mr. Lloyd was very much incensed when he saw Bert's injuries, and heard from him and Frank the particulars of the affair. He determined to make one more appeal to the Dodsons to put the dog away, and if that were unsuccessful, to call upon the authorities to compel them to do so.



Another person who was not less exercised about it was Michael, the man of all work. He was very fond and proud of the young master, as he called Bert, and that a dog should dare to put his teeth into him filled him with righteous wrath. Furthermore, like many of his class, he firmly believed in the superstition that unless the dog was killed at once, Bert would certainly go mad. Mr. Lloyd laughed at him good-humouredly when he earnestly advocated the summary execution of Lion, and refused to have anything to do with it. But the faithful affectionate fellow was not to be diverted from his purpose, and accordingly the next night after the attack, he stealthily approached the Dodson yard from the rear, got close to old Lion's kennel, and then threw down before his very nose a juicy bit of beefsteak, in which a strong dose of poison had been cunningly concealed. The unsuspecting dog took the tempting bait, and the next morning lay stiff and stark in death, before his kennel door.

When the Dodsons found their favourite dead, they were highly enraged; and taking it for granted that either Mr. Lloyd or some one in his interest or his employ was guilty of Lion's untimely demise, Mr. Dodson, without waiting to institute inquiries, rushed off to the City Police Court, and lodged a complaint against the one who he conceived was the guilty party.

Mr. Lloyd was not a little surprised when, later in the morning, a blue-coated and silver-buttoned policeman presented himself at his office, and, in the most respectful manner possible, served upon him a summons to appear before the magistrate to answer to a complaint made by one Thomas Dodson, who alleged that he "had with malice prepense and aforethought killed or caused to be killed a certain Newfoundland dog, the same being the property of the said Thomas Dodson, and thereby caused damage to the complainant, to the amount of one hundred dollars."

So soon as Mr. Lloyd read the summons, which was the first intimation he had had of Lion's taking off, he at once suspected who was the real criminal. But of course he said nothing to the policeman beyond assuring him that he would duly appear to answer to the summons.

That evening he sent for Michael, and without any words of explanation placed the summons in his hand. The countenance of the honest fellow as he slowly read it through and took in its import was an amusing study. Bewilderment, surprise, indignation, and alarm were in turn expressed in his frank face, and when he had finished he stood before Mr. Lloyd speechless, but looking as though he wanted to say: "What will you be after doing to me now, that I've got you into such a scrape?"

Assuming a seriousness he did not really feel, Mr. Lloyd looked hard at Michael, as he asked:

"Do you know anything about this?"

Michael reddened, and dropped his eyes to the ground, but answered, unhesitatingly:

"I do, sir. It was meself that gave the old brute the dose of medicine that fixed him."

"But, Michael," said Mr. Lloyd, with difficulty restraining a smile, "it was not right of you to take the law into your own hands in that way. You knew well enough that I could not approve of it."

"I did, indeed, sir," answered Michael, "but," lifting up his head as his warm Irish heart stirred within him, "I couldn't sleep at night for thinking of what might happen to the young master if the dog weren't killed; and, so unbeknownst to anybody, I just slipped over the fence, and dropped him a bit of steak that I knew he would take to kindly. I'm very sorry, sir, if I've got you into any trouble, but sure can't you just tell them that it was Michael that did the mischief, and then they won't bother you at all."

"No, no, Michael. I'm not going to do that. You meant for the best what you did, and you did it for the sake of my boy, so I will assume the responsibility; but I hope it will be a lesson to you not to take the law into your own hands again. You see it is apt to have awkward consequences."

"That's true, sir," assented Michael, looking much relieved at this conclusion. "I'll promise to be careful next time, but—" pausing a moment as he turned to leave the room—"it's glad I am that that cross old brute can't have another chance at Master Bert, all the same." And having uttered this note of triumph, he made a low bow and disappeared.

Mr. Lloyd had a good laugh after the door closed upon him.

"He's a faithful creature," he said, kindly; "but I'm afraid his fidelity is going to cost me something this time. However, I won't make him unhappy by letting him know that."

The trial was fixed for the following Friday, and that day Bert was excused from school in order to be present as a witness. His scars were healing rapidly, but still presented an ugly enough appearance to make it clear that worthy Michael's indignation was not without cause.

Now, this was the first time that Bert had ever been inside a court-room; and, although his father was a lawyer, the fact that he made a rule never to carry his business home with him had caused Bert to grow up in entire ignorance of the real nature of court proceedings. The only trials that had ever interested him being those in which the life or liberty of the person most deeply concerned was at stake, he had naturally formed the idea that all trials were of this nature, and consequently regarded with very lively sympathy the defendants of a couple of cases that had the precedence of "Dodson v. Lloyd."

Feeling quite sure that the unhappy individuals who were called upon to defend themselves were in a very evil plight, he was surprised and shocked at the callous levity of the lawyers, and even of the magistrate, a small-sized man, to whom a full grey beard, a pair of gold-bowed spectacles, and a deep voice imparted an air of dignity he would not otherwise have possessed. That they should crack jokes with each other over such serious matters was something he could not understand, as with eyes and ears that missed nothing he observed all that went on around him.

At length, after an hour or more of waiting, the case of "Dodson v. Lloyd" was called, and Bert, now to his deep concern, beheld his father in the same position as had been the persons whom he was just pitying; for the magistrate, looking, as Bert thought, very stern, called upon him to answer to the complaint of Thomas Dodson, who alleged, &c., &c., &c.

Mr. Lloyd pleaded his own cause, and it was not a very heavy undertaking, for the simple reason that he made no defence beyond stating that the dog had been poisoned by his servant without his knowledge or approval, and asking that Bert's injuries might be taken into account in mitigation of damages. The magistrate accordingly asked Bert to go into the witness-box, and the clerk administered the oath, Bert kissing the greasy, old Bible that had in its time been touched by many a perjured lip, with an unsophisticated fervour that brought out a smile upon the countenances of the spectators.

He was then asked to give his version of the affair. Naturally enough, he hesitated a little at first, but encouraged by his father's smiles, he soon got over his nervousness, and told a very plain, straightforward story. Mr. Dodson's lawyer, a short, thick man with a nose like a paroquet's, bushy, black whiskers, and a very obtrusive pair of spectacles, then proceeded, in a rough, hard voice, to try his best to draw Bert into admitting that he had been accustomed to tease the dog, and to throw stones at him. But although he asked a number of questions beginning with a "Now, sir, did you not?" or, "Now, sir, can you deny that?" &c., uttered in very awe-inspiring tones, he did not succeed in shaking Bert's testimony in the slightest degree, or in entrapping him into any disadvantageous admission.

At first Bert was somewhat disconcerted by the blustering, brow-beating manner of the lawyer, but after a few questions his spirits rose to the occasion, and he answered the questions in a prompt, frank, fearless fashion, that more than once evoked a round of applause from the lookers-on. He had nothing but the truth to tell and his cross-examiner ere long came to the conclusion that it was futile endeavouring to get him to tell anything else; and so, with rather bad grace, he gave it up, and said he might go.

Before leaving the witness-box Bert removed the bandages from his cheek, and exhibited the marks of the dog's teeth to the magistrate, the sight of which, together with the boy's testimony, made such an impression upon him that he gave as his decision that he would dismiss the case if Mr. Lloyd would pay the costs, which the latter very readily agreed to do; and so the matter ended—not quite to the satisfaction of Mr. Dodson, but upon the whole in pretty close accordance with the strict principles of right and justice.

Michael was very greatly relieved when he heard the result, for he had been worrying a good deal over what he feared Mr. Lloyd might suffer in consequence of his excess of zeal.

"So they got nothing for their old dog, after all," he exclaimed, in high glee. "Well, they got as much as he was worth at all events, and"—sinking his voice to a whisper—"between you and me, Master Bert, if another dog iver puts his teeth into you, I'll be after givin' him the same medicine, so sure as my name's Michael Flynn."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

WELL DONE, BOYS!

There comes a time in the life of nearly every boy who attends Sunday school when, no matter how faithful to it he may have been, he finds gradually stealing in upon him the feeling that he is growing too old for it, and he becomes restive under its restraints. He sees other boys of the same age going off for a pleasant walk, or otherwise spending the afternoon as they please, and he envies them their freedom. He thinks himself already sufficiently familiar with Bible truth for all practical purposes, and the lessons lose their interest for him. He has perhaps no ambition for becoming a teacher, nor even of being promoted to a chair in the Bible class.

How best to meet the case of this boy, and save him to the Sunday school is one of the most difficult questions that present themselves to those engaged in that work. You must not scold him or you will infallibly drive him away at once and for ever. Neither is it wise to seek to bring into play influences that will compel him to attend nolens volens, for that will but deepen his dislike, and make him long the more eagerly for the time when he will be his own master in the matter.

There seem to be but two possible solutions of the problem. You must either appeal to the boy's natural sense of independence, and desire for importance by making some special provision for him that will mark a distinction between him and the younger folk, or you must, by going far deeper, reach the spiritual side of his nature, and through it secure his fidelity to the school.

To Bert this temptation had not presented itself. He no more thought of tiring of the Sunday school than he did of his own home. He had attended regularly ever since his sister Mary would take him with her, and put him in the infant class, and it might be said to have become second nature with him.

With Frank, however, it was different. He had never gone to Sunday school until Bert invited him, and although for some years he was very fond of it, that fondness in time had fallen into an indifference, and of late he had a decided disinclination to go at all. This was not due so much to any resistance to the claims of religion itself, but rather to a foolish idea that he was now too old and too big for Sunday school.

Bert took his friend's change of feeling very much to heart, and he pleaded with him so earnestly, that for some time Frank continued in his place just to please him. But this of course could not last, and he was in danger of drifting away altogether, when an event occurred which turned the current of his life and set it flowing once more in the right direction, this time with a volume it had never known before.

It was a pleasant custom at Calvary Church to give the Sunday school a picnic every summer, and these picnics were most enjoyable affairs. A better place than Halifax Harbour for the holding of a picnic could hardly be conceived. You go, of course, by steamer, and then have the choice of some half-dozen different routes, each having its own attractions. You might go right up to the head of the big basin that stretched away eight miles or more beyond the north end of the city, and there land, amid the meadows that are bordered by the unbroken forest, or you might stop half-way, and invade the old estate that had once been proud to claim a prince as its possessor.

Steering in the opposite direction, you might go around the Point, and piercing the recesses of the ever-beautiful arm of the sea, find a perfect picnic ground at its farthest bend; or, crossing the harbour, there were lovely spots to be secured on the big, tree-clad island that well-nigh filled the harbour mouth.

This year it had been decided to hold the picnic at the head of the arm. The time was August, just when the cool sea-breeze and the balmy breath of the pines are most grateful to the dwellers in cities. To the number of four hundred or more, a happy crowd of Sunday-school scholars and teachers, and their friends gathered upon the broad deck of the clumsy old Mic-mac, an excursion steamer that had done duty on this line for a generation, at least. Each class had its own banner, as a sort of rallying point, and these, with the pretty dresses and bright ribbons of the girls, imparted plenty of colour to the scene, while the boys gave life to it by being incessantly on the move, and never in one spot for more than one minute at a time.

Bert and Frank were in the midst of the merry crowd, and in the highest spirits. They were neither of them by any means indifferent to the fascination of feminine beauty and grace, and it was easy to secure the most delightful companionship on board the boat, which they did not fail to do. Then they had the games and sports to look forward to, after the picnic ground should be reached, and altogether their cup of happiness seemed well-nigh brimming over. They little dreamed how ere the day closed they would both be brought face to face with the deadliest peril of their lives.

Joyous with music and laughter, the big boat pushed her way onward over the white-capped waves, past the fort and the gas works, and the long stretch of the Point road; and then giving the point itself a wide berth—for the shallows extend far out—around it, and up the winding arm, with its line of stately homes on one side, and scattered clusters of white-washed cottages on the other, until almost at its very end, the landing-place was reached, and the gay passengers gladly deserted the steamer to seek the cool shelter of the woods.

There was a wonderful amount of happiness crowded into that day. All who wanted to be useful found plenty of scope for their talents in the transporting of the provisions, the arranging of the tables, the hanging of the swings, and the other work that had to be done, while those who preferred play to work, could go boating, or swimming, or play ball, and so forth.

The two friends went in for both work and play. They gave very efficient help to the ladies in preparing for the dinner, but they did not miss a grand swim in the cool, clear water of a sequestered cove, nor an exciting game of baseball in the open field.

After dinner came the sports, consisting of competitions in running, jumping, and ball throwing, for which prizes in the shape of knives, balls, and bats were offered. Bert and Frank took part in several of them with satisfactory results, Frank winning a fine knife in the long distance race, and Bert a good ball for the best throw, so that there was nothing to mar their pleasure in this regard.

By sunset all were making for the boat again, and in the soft summer gloaming the old Mic-Mac steamed steadily down the arm on her homeward trip. Many of the children were weary now, and inclined to be cross and sleepy. Others were still full of life and spirits, and could not be restrained from chasing one another up and down the deck and among the benches. But their merriment was ere long suddenly ended by an event which came near casting a dark cloud over the whole day, that had hitherto been no less bright with happiness than with sunshine.

Bert and Frank had joined a group of charming girls gathered at the stern of the steamer, and while pleasantly employed in making themselves agreeable were more than once disturbed by the noisy youngsters, who would persist in playing "chase."

"Some of you will be falling overboard if you don't take care," said Bert, warningly, to them. "Why don't you keep in the middle of the steamer?"

There was good ground for Bert's warning, as, across the stern of the old steamer, which had been a ferry boat in her early days, there was only a broad wooden bar placed so high that a child might almost walk under it without stooping.

But the careless children continued their play as the Mic-Mac ploughed her way back to the city. Presently a troop of them came racing down to the stern in chase of a golden-haired sprite, that laughingly ran before them. She was closely pursued by a boy about her own age, and in her eagerness to escape him she dodged underneath the bar that marked the line of safety. As she did so, the steamer gave a sudden lurch; and, poised perilously near the edge as the girl already was, it proved too much for her balance. She uttered a terrified shriek, grasped vainly at the bar now quite out of her reach, and, to the horror of those looking helplessly on, toppled over into the frothing, foaming water of the steamer's wake.

Instantly there was wild confusion on board the steamer. Scream after scream went up from the women, and all who could crowded madly toward the stern. If the girl was to be saved, immediate action was necessary. Bert did not stop to think. He could swim strongly and well. He would attempt her rescue.

"Frank, I'm after her," he cried, as he flung off his coat and hat.

"I'm with you," answered Frank, imitating his action; and before anyone else had thought of moving, the two boys, almost side by side, sprang into the heaving water with faces set toward the spot where a cloud of white showed them the little girl still floated. Putting forth all their speed, they reached her ere the buoyancy had left her clothing, and each seizing an arm of the poor child, who had just fainted through excess of fright, they prepared to battle for her life and their own.

They realised at once that it was to be no easy struggle. The steamer had been going at full speed, and although the engines were reversed at the first alarm, the impetus of her awkward bulk had carried her far away from the spot where the girl fell; and now the boys could just barely discern her through the deepening dusk. The harbour had been rough all day, and the waters still rolled uneasily. Fortunately, it was not very cold, or the swimmers' case had been well-nigh hopeless. As it was, the only chance of their deliverance hung upon their endurance. If their strength held out, they and the little one they had put themselves in peril to rescue would be saved.

She continued to be unconscious, her pretty face, that was so bright and rosy a few minutes before, now looking strangely white and rigid, and her golden curls clinging darkly about her neck, her broad straw hat, all water-soaked and limp, hanging over on one side.

"Surely she can't be dead already?" exclaimed Bert, anxiously, to Frank, as the two boys kept her and themselves afloat by treading water, one at either arm.

"No," replied Frank, "only fainted. But if the steamer doesn't come soon, she will be; and so will we too."

"Never fear, Frank, the steamer will be back for us soon. I think I can hear her paddles now," said Bert, in cheering tones; and they listened intently for a moment, but heard nothing save the soft lapping of the waves all around them. Then Frank spoke:

"Bert," he asked, "are you afraid to die?"

Bert started at the question. He had not thought of dying, and life was so precious to him.

"We're not going to die, Frank. God will take care of us," he answered, quickly.

"Yes, but if the steamer shouldn't get back to us in time, Bert," persisted Frank, who seemed to be already losing hope, "aren't you afraid to die?"

"I don't want to, but I'm not afraid to," Bert replied, after a pause; for it was not easy to talk when every exertion had to be put forth to keep above the water.

"But, Bert, I am afraid," said Frank, with a groan. "I've been so wicked."

"No, you haven't, Frank; and even if you have, God will forgive you now. Ask Him right away."

"Oh, I can't—it's too late; I cannot pray now," cried poor Frank, in a voice that sounded like a wail of despair.

"It's not too late. Come, Frank, dear, we'll both pray to God to have mercy upon us," urged Bert; and inspired by his earnestness, Frank obeyed. And there, in the midst of the waves, with their senseless burden between them, the two boys lifted up their souls in supplication to their Omnipotent Father—Bert with the confidence that came of past experience, Frank with the agonised entreaty of one praying in sore need, and, for the first time, with the whole heart. A strange place for a prayer meeting, indeed; but they were as near the great heart of God as though they had been in His grandest cathedral, and the answer to their earnest pleading was already on its way.

When the two young heroes leaped into the water, there had at first been great confusion on board the Mic-Mac, but a minute or two later the captain's gruff voice was heard roaring out orders. The paddles that had been thrashing the waves so vigorously suddenly stopped, were silent for a moment, and then recommenced; but now they were bearing the steamer backward instead of forward.

"Get ready the boat for launching," thundered the captain. And half-a-dozen men sprang to obey.

"Light a couple of lanterns," he shouted again. And in an instant it was done.

"Reeve a long line round one of them life preservers, and stand ready for a throw," he cried to the mate. And almost before he had finished speaking the mate stood ready.

"Now, then, clear away there all of you," he growled at the excited crowd that pressed toward the stern, and they fell back, allowing him clear space, while he swung the lantern out before him, and peered into the dusk that obscured his view.

"Let her go easy now," he shouted, and the steamer moved slowly on, a profound silence falling upon the crowd of passengers as they watched with throbbing eagerness for the first sign of the imperiled ones being sighted.

Gazing hard into the gloom, the keen-eyed captain caught sight of a gleam of white upon the water.

"Stop her!" he roared, with a voice like that of the north wind. "Hand me that life preserver!"—turning to the mate who stood near him. The mate obeyed, and coiling the long rope ready for a throw the captain waited, while the steamer drew nearer to the speck of white.

"Look out there!" he cried to the boys in the water. "Lay hold of this." And swinging the big life preserver around his head as though it had been a mere toy, he hurled it far out before him, where the beams of light from the lantern showed not one but three white objects scarce above the surface of the water.

"Look sharp now! lay hold there!" he cried again, and then: "All right. Keep your grip, and we'll have you in a minute." Then turning to those behind him: "Lower that boat—quick!"

The davits creaked and groaned as the ropes spun through the blocks; there was a big splash when the boat struck the water, a few fierce strokes of the oars, and then a glad shout of, "All right; we've got them," in response to which cheer upon cheer rang out from the throng above, now relieved from their intense anxiety.

A few minutes later, three dripping forms were carefully handed up the side, and taken into the warm engine room, the little girl still unconscious, and the boys so exhausted as to be not far from the same condition.

Their rescue had been effected just in time. A little more, and utterly unable to keep themselves afloat any longer, they would have sunk beneath the pitiless waves.

"It seemed awful to have to die that way," said Bert, when telling his parents about it. "I was getting weaker and weaker all the time, and so, too, was Frank, and I thought we'd have to let the poor little girl go, and strike out for ourselves. But we kept praying hard to God to help us; and then all of a sudden I saw a light, and I said to Frank, 'There's the steamer—hold on a little longer;' and then I could hear the sound of the paddles, and the next thing the captain shouted to us and flung us a life preserver, and we got a good grip of that, and held on until the boat took us all in."

The heroic action of the two boys made them famous in Halifax. The newspapers printed columns in their praise, a handsome subscription was taken up in a day to present them each with a splendid gold medal commemorating the event; important personages, who had never noticed them before, stopped them on the street to shake hands with them, and what really pleased them most of all, Dr. Johnston gave the school a holiday in their honour, having just delivered an address, in which, with flashing eyes and quivering lips, he told the other scholars how proud he felt of Frank and Bert, and how he hoped their schoolmates would show the same noble courage if they ever had a like opportunity.

The parents of the little one they rescued were plain people of limited means, but they could not deny themselves the luxury of manifesting their gratitude in some tangible form. Accordingly, they had two pictures of their daughter prepared, and placed in pretty frames, bearing the expressive inscription, "Rescued," with the date beneath; and the mother herself took them to the boys, the tears that bathed her cheeks as she presented them telling far better than any words could do, how fervent was her gratitude.

Deeply as Frank had been moved at being brought through his own generous impulse into such close quarters with death, the excitement and bustle of the days immediately following the event so filled his mind that the impression bade fair to pass away again, leaving him no better than he had been before. But it was not God's purpose that this should be the result. Before the good effects of that brief prayer meeting in the water were entirely dissipated, another influence came to their support. Although he knew it not, he was approaching the great crisis of his life, and by a way most unexpected; he was shortly to be led into that higher plane of existence, toward which he had been slowly tending through the years of his friendship with Bert.



CHAPTER XXIX.

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.

A day or two after the rescue Bert began to show signs of what he took to be simply a slight cold in the chest. At first there was only a little pain, and a rather troublesome feeling of oppression, which did not give him much concern, and having applied to his mother, and had her prescribe for him, he assumed that it was the natural consequence of his sudden plunge into the cold water, and would soon pass away. But instead of doing so the pain and oppression increased, and the family doctor had to be called in for his opinion. Having examined the young patient carefully, Dr. Brown decided that he was threatened with an attack of inflammation of the lungs, and that the best thing for him to do was to go right to bed, and stay there until the danger was over.

Here was a new experience for Bert. He had never spent a day in bed before, his only previous sickness having been a siege of the mumps, and they merely made him a prisoner in the house until his face regained its usual size. But now he was to really go upon the sick list, and submit to be treated accordingly until the doctor should pronounce him well again. He did not like the idea at all. To what boy, indeed, would it have been welcome in that glorious summer weather when there was bliss in merely being alive and well. But he had too much sense to rebel. He knew that Dr. Brown was no alarmist, and that the best thing to do was to obey his injunctions unquestioningly. Moreover, he now began to feel some slight anxiety himself. The trouble in his chest increased. So much so, indeed, that he found difficulty in speaking for any length of time. Symptoms of fever, too, appeared; and by the close of another day no doubt remained that the attack was of a serious nature, and that the utmost care would be necessary in order to insure his recovery.

When Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd learned this, they were sorely distressed. Such perfect health had their sturdy boy enjoyed all through his life hitherto, that they could hardly realise his being laid upon a bed of sickness, and it seemed especially trying just after he had passed safely through so great a peril. But they did not murmur. They committed Bert to the Divine care, and with countenances full of cheer for his sake, and hearts strengthened from above, awaited the revealing of the Lord's will.

Day by day Bert grew worse, until each breath became an effort; and the fever burned all through his veins, as though it would consume him. Fortunately, no cloud came over his consciousness; and although he could not speak without a painful effort, and therefore said little, his grateful looks showed how fully he appreciated the unremitting care with which his father and mother and Mary watched over him. His bedside was never without one of them; and there was yet another who vied with them in their devotion—and that was Frank. Had Bert been his twin brother he could not have felt more concern. He was moved to the very depths of his heart, and with tears in his eyes begged of Mr. Lloyd permission to take turns with them in watching by the bedside through the long hours of the night. He was so affectionate, so thoughtful, so gentle, so trustworthy, and Bert seemed so glad to have him, that Mr. Lloyd willingly consented; and thus the four whom Bert loved best shared the burden of care and anxiety between them.

Bert had never made much parade of his religion. It was the controlling force in his life, yet it had not been in any way obtrusive. It had grown with his growth, and strengthened with his expanding strength; and although there had of course been many slips and falls—for what was he but an impulsive boy?—there had been no decline, but steadfast progress as the years of his boyhood glided past. It stood him in good stead when death waited for him in the depths of Halifax harbour, and it was with him now, as hour by hour he drew nearer the dark valley of the shadow.

It seemed strange for the Lloyd's home, which Bert and Mary had brightened with laughter and song, to be so silent now, and for big Dr. Brown, whose visits previously had been mainly of a social nature, to be calling every day, with a serious countenance that betokened his concern. Never were mother and sister more devoted and untiring than Bert's. Their loving care anticipated his simplest wants; and but for the dreadful feeling in his chest, and the fever that gave him no relief, the novelty of being thus assiduously tended was so great, that he would hardly have minded being their patient for a little while, at least.

It was an unspeakable comfort to them all that his reason continued perfectly clear, no matter how high the fever raged; and not only his reason, but his faith was clear also. He did not despair of his recovery, yet he shrank not from looking the darker alternative fairly in the face, and preparing to meet it. His father's strong, serene faith was a wonderful help to him. In the quiet evening, as the dusk drew on, Mr. Lloyd would sit beside him, and, taking his hot hand in his, talk with him tenderly, repeating Scripture passages of hope and comfort, or verses from the sacred songs they both loved.

One afternoon, Frank was alone with him, Mrs. Lloyd and Mary having gone off to take much needed rest, and Bert for the first time spoke to his friend of the possibility of his never getting well again.

"I am very ill, Frank, dear," said he, reaching over to lay his burning hand upon Frank's knee, as the latter sat close beside his bed. "I may never be any better."

"Oh, yes, you will!" returned Frank, cheerfully. "You'll come round all right."

"I hope so, Frank, but sometimes as I lie here in the middle of the night, it seems as though it would soon be all over with me."

"Never fear, Bert, you'll live to be an old man yet, see if you don't."

Bert was silent for a while as if thinking just how he would say something that was on his mind. Then turning to Frank, and, looking earnestly into his face, he asked:

"Frank, do you love Jesus?"

Frank started at the question, the blood mounted to his forehead, and his head dropped. He seemed reluctant to reply, and it was some time before he answered, almost in a whisper:

"I'm afraid I don't, Bert."

A look of sorrow came over Bert's countenance, but was quickly dissipated by one of hope, and despite the pain the utterance of every word gave him he took Frank's hand between both of his, and pressing it affectionately, said:

"Dear, dear Frank, you will love Him, won't you?"

Frank's sturdy frame trembled with the emotion he strove hard to suppress; his lips quivered so that he could not have spoken if he would, and at length, unable to control himself any longer, he fell on his knees at the bedside, and burying his face in his hands burst into tears.

The ineffable glory of the sun setting into the golden haze of the west filled the room, and enfolded the figures of the two boys, the one kneeling at the bedside, and the other with eyes lifted heavenward, and lips moving in earnest prayer, touching softly the brown curls half buried in the bed beside him. For some minutes there was a solemn silence. Then Bert spoke:

"Frank, Frank," he called, gently.

Frank lifted his tear-stained face.

"Won't you begin to love Him now?" Bert asked. "If God should take me away, I could not be happy unless I felt sure that you would meet me above. We've been such friends, Frank, and you've been so good to me always."



Frank's tears flowed afresh. It was not the first time that the question of surrender to Christ had presented itself to him. He had debated it with himself over and over again, and always with the same result, concluding to remain undecided a little longer. But now the time for indecision seemed altogether passed. The Christ Himself seemed present in that room awaiting an answer to the question he had inspired Bert to put. Never in all his life before had the issue between God and himself appeared so inevitable. He had evaded it more than once, but a decision could no longer be delayed. No sooner did he see this clearly than the powers of the strong, deep nature asserted itself. Brushing aside his tears, and looking right into Bert's expectant eyes, he seized both his hands, and, with a countenance almost glorified by the expression of lofty purpose the rays of the setting sun revealed upon it, said, in clear, firm tones:

"Yes, Bert, I will love Jesus, and I will begin right away."

"Oh, Frank, I'm so happy!" murmured Bert, as he fell back on his pillow, for the stress of emotion had told hard upon him in his weak state, and he felt exhausted. He lay there quietly with his eyes closed for a while, and then sank into a gentle slumber, and before he awoke again Mrs. Lloyd had come into the room so that their conversation could not be resumed before Frank went away.

The next day Bert was decidedly worse. The suffering in his chest increased until he could hardly speak. With great difficulty he could get out a word at a time, and that was all. The fever showed no signs of abating, and he tossed upon his bed hour after hour, while with ice and fan and cooling applications Mrs. Lloyd and Mary strove hard to give him ease.

Dr. Brown made no attempt to conceal his anxiety.

"The crisis is near at hand," he said. "There is nothing more that I can do for him. He has reached a point where your prayers can do more for him than my poor medicines."

Although her heart was torn with anguish unspeakable, Mrs. Lloyd's fortitude never for a moment faltered. So serene was her bearing in the sick chamber that Mary, from whom the gravity of her brother's case had been so far as possible concealed, had yet no thought but that he would infallibly win his way back to health.

As he grew weaker and his sufferings more intense, Bert evidently felt easiest when all three of his own household were with him at once, and when Frank was there also, his satisfaction seemed complete. He spoke but little, and then only a word or two at a time. Dr. Chrystal came to see him frequently, and was always greeted with a glad smile of welcome. Taking the Bible, he would, in his rich mellow voice, read some comforting passage, and then pray with deep trustful earnestness, inspiring and strengthening the anxious watchers, and leaving behind him an atmosphere of peace.

On Friday night the crisis came. After tossing and tumbling about feverishly all day, as the evening shadows fell, Bert sank into a deep stupor, and Dr. Brown, with a lump in his throat that almost choked his utterance, said plainly that unless he rallied before morning there would be no further hope. In an agony of prayer Mrs. Lloyd knelt by her darling's bedside, while in an adjoining room Mr. Lloyd, and Mary, and Dr. Chrystal, and Frank sat together, praying and waiting, and striving to comfort one another. The long hours of agonising uncertainty dragged slowly by. Every few minutes some one would steal on tiptoe to the sick chamber, and on their return met fond faces full of eager questioning awaiting them, only to answer with a sad shake of the head that meant no ray of hope yet.

At length the dawn began to flush the east, and with crimson radiance light up the great unmeasured dome, putting out the stars that had shone as watch fires throughout the night. Mrs. Lloyd had risen from her knees, and was sitting close beside the bed, watching every breath that Bert drew; for who could say which one would be the last? The daylight stole swiftly into the room, making the night-light no longer necessary, and she moved softly to put it out. As she returned to her post, and stood for a moment gazing with an unutterable tenderness at the beloved face lying so still upon the pillow, a thrill of joy shot through her, for a change seemed to have taken place; the flushed features had assumed a more natural hue, and the breath came more easily. Scarcely daring to hope, she stood as if entranced. Presently a tremor ran through Bert's frame, he stirred uneasily, sighed heavily, and then, as naturally as a babe awaking, opened wide his big, brown eyes.

Seeing his mother just before him, he gave a glad smile, lifted up his hands as though to embrace her, and said, without any apparent difficulty:

"You dear, darling mother."

Completely overcome with joy, Mrs. Lloyd threw herself down beside her boy and kissed him passionately, exclaiming: "Thank God! Thank God! He's saved;" and then, springing up, hastened out to tell the others the good news.

Dr. Brown, who had been resting in the study, was instantly summoned, and the moment he saw Bert his face became radiant. Turning to Mrs. Lloyd, he shook her hand warmly, saying:

"The worst is over. He'll come round all right now, and you may thank your prayers, madam, and not my medicines."

Great was the rejoicing in the Lloyd household. No words would express their gladness; and when school-time came Frank, utterly unable to contain himself, rushed off to Dr. Johnston's, and astonished the assembled pupils by shouting at the top of his voice:

"Hurrah, boys! Bert's not going to die. He'll soon be well again."



CHAPTER XXX.

HOME MISSIONARY WORK.

Bert's recovery was as rapid as his illness had been sudden and severe. A fortnight after that memorable morning, when with the dawn came deliverance, he was as vigorous and lively as ever. He found the days of his convalescence not at all unpleasant. When the pain had passed, the long hours of suffering seemed like a dreadful dream, and the present, with its sweet relief and increasing strength, a blissful awaking. At his home all was joy and brightness: there were silence and anxiety no longer. Mrs. Lloyd and Mary went singing from room to room, Mr. Lloyd came back from his office whistling merrily, and sure to be ready with something to make Bert laugh. Frank ran in and out, the very type of joyous boyhood, and each day brought its stream of callers, with warm congratulations upon Bert's happy restoration to health.

It would be a queer boy that would not enjoy this, seeing that it all centred upon him, and Bert fully appreciated the important position he held for the time being. Then what could be more delightful than the sense of returning strength, of enlarging activity?—to find one's-self with a clearer head, a sharper appetite, and a more vigorous frame, as one glorious summer day succeeded another; while the birds sang blithely in the apple tree, and the blue waters of the ever-beautiful harbour rippled gently before the morning zephyrs, or were stirred into white caps by the afternoon breeze?

Bert's illness left no trace behind so far as his physical nature was concerned, and yet he was not altogether the same boy as before it laid him low. Deep solemn thoughts had been his as he lay upon his bed, not knowing whether he should ever rise from it again. His life had been in many respects a more than ordinarily blameless one, and yet when he had little else to do save look back upon it, an almost overwhelming sense of his worthlessness came upon him, and he was filled with wonder that God could love him at all.

But that He did love him, and for His Son's sake had accepted him, he never for a moment doubted. Now that he was restored to health and strength, he did not seek to forget those feelings, nor would he allow his convictions of great obligations Godward to lead him nowhere. He resolved to do some definite work for his Divine Master, and to seize the first opportunity that presented itself.

His friendship with Frank passed into a deeper, stronger phase than ever before. It might with much truth have been said of them as it was of two friends of old, that the soul of Bert was knit with the soul of Frank, and that Bert loved him as his own soul. They had so much in common now, and they found it so delightful to strengthen one another's hands in the Lord by talking together of His goodness.

There was one matter that troubled Frank deeply, and that formed the subject of many a long and earnest conversation. His father was a man about whose lack of religion there could be no doubt. He was a big, bluff, and rather coarse-grained man, not over-scrupulous in business, but upon the whole as honest and trustworthy as the bulk of humanity. By dint of sheer hard work and shrewdness he had risen to a position of wealth and importance, and, as self-made men are apt to do, laid much more stress upon what he owed to himself than upon what he owed to his Creator. In his own rough way, that is to say in somewhat the same fashion as we may suppose a lion loves his whelp, he loved the only child the wife long since dead had left him. He was determined that he should lack nothing that was worth having, and in nothing did Mr. Bowser show his shrewdness more clearly than in fully appreciating the advantage it was to Frank to be the chosen friend and constant companion of Lawyer Lloyd's son. He had manifested his satisfaction at the intimacy by having Frank make Bert handsome presents at Christmas time, and in other ways. In all this, however, his only thought had been for Frank. He made no attempt to cultivate intimate relations with the Lloyds on his own account. He thought them both too refined, and too religious for him, and accordingly declined so far as he civilly could, Mr. Lloyd's overtures toward a better acquaintance.

Such a man was Frank's father; and now that the boy's heart was full of joy and light, because the peace that passeth understanding was his, he longed that his father should share the same happy experience.

"If father were only a Christian, like your father, Bert, I would be the happiest boy in all the world," said he, one day. "Oh, Bert, what can I do to make him interested in religion?"

"Why don't you ask Dr. Chrystal to go and talk with him?" inquired Bert.

"It wouldn't be a bit of use. He won't go to church to hear Dr. Chrystal, nor any other minister, and he wouldn't listen to them if they came to see him. He says he has no faith in parsons, anyway."

"Well, do you think he would listen to father?" suggested Bert.

Frank's face lighted up. He had been thinking of this himself.

"Perhaps he would, Bert," he said, eagerly. "I know he thinks a great deal of your father. I've heard him say that he practised better than many of the parsons preached."

Bert flushed with pleasure at this frank compliment to his father.

"Then suppose we ask him to speak to your father about religion," he said.

"Oh, yes; let us," assented Frank. Accordingly, that evening the two boys brought the matter before Mr. Lloyd, who listened to them very attentively. Then he asked a question or two.

"Are you quite sure, Frank, that I am the very best person to speak to your father on this important subject?"

"Yes, Mr. Lloyd; I'm quite sure you are."

"Well, do you know, Frank, I don't agree with you. I think I know of somebody that can do it much better than I can," said Mr. Lloyd, with a meaning smile.

Frank's face fell. He had set his heart upon having Mr. Lloyd do it, and could not believe that anybody else would do as well. After a little pause, he asked:

"Who is this somebody else, Mr. Lloyd?"

"He's not very far away from us now, Frank," answered Mr. Lloyd, still with that curious smile.

"You don't mean Bert, do you?" cried Frank, looking a little bewildered.

"No; I don't mean Bert," responded Mr. Lloyd.

"Then——." He stopped short, a deep blush spread over his features; he caught his breath, and then, as if hoping that the answer would be in the negative, exclaimed:

"Do you mean me?"

"Yes, I do mean just you; and nobody else, Frank."

Frank threw himself back in his chair with a despairing gesture, saying:

"Oh, I could never do it, Mr. Lloyd. I know I never could."

Mr. Lloyd looked at him with tender sympathy, and laying his hand upon his knee, said, gently:

"Do you remember the motto, Frank: 'Quit you like men, be strong'?"

Frank heaved a heavy sigh. "But how can I go about it, Mr. Lloyd?" he asked.

Mr. Lloyd thought a moment.

"I have an idea, Frank," he said, presently. "Suppose you were to start family prayer in the mornings. I believe it would be the means of doing your father good."

At first Frank could not be persuaded that such a thing was possible as his presuming to conduct family prayer in his father's presence, but they talked long and earnestly about it, and finally he went away promising to think it over very seriously.

As he turned the matter over in his mind, however, little by little his courage strengthened until at length he felt himself equal to the undertaking. It was a Sunday morning that he chose upon which to make the venture. So soon as breakfast was finished, and his father had moved away from the table, wishing to himself that there was a paper published on Sundays as well as upon other days, for he had time to read it comfortably, Frank took up his Bible, and said, very hesitatingly:

"Father, do you mind if we have family prayers?"

"Eh! What's that? What do you mean?" asked Mr. Bowser, looking up as if he could hardly believe his ears.

"Why, father," answered Frank, timidly, "you know they have prayers at Mr. Lloyd's every morning, and I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind our having them, too."

Mr. Bowser scanned his son's face with a hard searching gaze, but Frank looked back at him with so much love and respect in his clear, brown eyes, that all suspicion was banished from his mind, and his heart melted not a little.

"Who's going to have the prayers? You don't expect me to, do you?" he asked, gruffly.

"Well, father, if you don't care to, I'll try, if you've no objection," replied Frank, modestly.

Mr. Bowser was silent for a moment. He had noted a change in Frank of late, and had been impressed by the increased interest he took in church and Sunday school as proven by the regularity and punctuality of his going off to the services. Had Frank become a Christian like Mr. Lloyd? He would not be sorry if he had, although it was rather a pity that he had not waited until he had had his fling first, sowed a few wild oats, seen something of the world, and then settled down. Here was a good chance to find out. So with some relaxing of his gruffness, Mr. Bowser said:

"All right, my boy. I've no objections so long as you're not too long-winded. Go ahead."

Thus encouraged, Frank, with beating heart and trembling lips, proceeded to read one of the Psalms; and then, kneeling down, offered up a simple, fervent, faith-filled prayer.

Mr. Bowser did not kneel. He sat sturdily upright in his chair, looking straight before him. But he could not prevent strange emotions awaking within him as he heard his boy, whom he was still inclined to look upon as hardly more than a child, though he was now sixteen years of age, address himself in reverent, earnest tones to the Great Being that he had so utterly neglected himself.

When Frank had finished, his father rose and left the room without saying a word. That evening Frank took tea with Bert, and they went to church together. Shortly after the service began Bert happened to glance about the church, and his eye fell upon somebody that caused him to give a little start of surprise, and then nudge Frank violently. On Frank's turning round to see what Bert meant, he too started, and an expression of joy that was beautiful to witness came over his countenance, for there, in a pew not far behind him, and evidently trying hard to look entirely at his ease, sat Mr. Bowser, this being his first appearance in church for many long years.

Dr. Chrystal preached one of his very best sermons that night, and all the time he was speaking Frank was praying that his earnest words might go straight home to his father's heart. That was the beginning of the good work. Thenceforward every Sunday evening found Mr. Bowser an attentive listener; and Frank, continuing the morning prayers faithfully, was surprised and delighted when one day his father brought home the finest family Bible he could find in the city, and handing it to him, said, in his kindest manner:

"Here, my boy, if we're going to have family prayers, we may just as well do it in proper style."

Frank joyfully reported all this to the Lloyds, who rejoiced with him over the prospect there was of his prayers for his father being fully answered ere long, and Mr. Lloyd was therefore not at all surprised when one evening Mr. Bowser called, and in an agitated, confused way begged the favour of an interview with him in the privacy of his study.

It was as Mr. Lloyd anticipated. Frank's simple, but sincere efforts at home missionary work had been crowned with success. His father's hard, worldly nature had been stirred to its depths. A longing the world could not appease had been awakened within him, and he had come to Mr. Lloyd as one in whom he placed implicit confidence, that he might guide him toward the light. The conversation, which Mr. Bowser found wonderfully helpful to him in his bewildered, anxious state of mind, was followed by many others, and the result was made evident when, ere that year closed, Mr. Bowser publicly united himself with the Church; and there were few who were familiar with the circumstances that could restrain a tear of sympathetic joy when Dr. Chrystal made the event the occasion for a beautiful and inspiring sermon upon the place of the young in the vineyard of the Lord.



CHAPTER XXXI.

NOT DEAD, BUT TRANSLATED.

Mr. Bowser was not a man to do anything by halves. When he was worldly, he was worldly out and out, and now that he had broken with the world and entered into the service of God, he took up the business of religion with a thoroughness and ardour that was entirely characteristic. He found himself wofully ignorant of the simplest Scripture truths. Until his conversion, he had not opened his Bible since he left his mother's care. He, therefore, determined to become a scholar. So one Saturday he asked Frank:

"Frank, what is it you do at Sunday school?"

"Well, father, we sing, and pray, and study the Bible, that's about all," answered Frank, wondering to himself what his father had in mind.

"Do any grown-up people go there, Frank?" inquired Mr. Bowser, innocently.

Frank smiled, partly at his father's lack of knowledge, and partly because he thought he caught a glimpse of his purpose.

"Why, of course, father," he exclaimed, "lots of them. Mr. Lloyd goes there, and Mr. Silver, and ten or twelve other gentlemen."

"Does Mr. Lloyd go to Sunday school?" asked Mr. Bowser, eagerly. "Why, what does he do there?"

"He teaches, father. He has charge of the men's Bible class."

"So Mr. Lloyd has a Bible class there," mused Mr. Bowser aloud; then, turning again to Frank, "Do you think, Frank, he would mind if I joined it."

Frank could not help smiling at the idea of Mr. Lloyd being otherwise than glad at having a new member in his class.

"Indeed, he won't. On the contrary, he'll be mighty glad, I'm sure," he answered, warmly.

"Very well, then, Frank, I'll go with you to Sunday school to-morrow. I don't know anything about the Bible, and I think there's no better place for me to learn," said Mr. Bowser, as he went off, leaving Frank so happy at the prospect of having his father go to school with him that he could hardly contain himself.

Very deep was Mr. Lloyd's pleasure when on Sunday afternoon burly Mr. Bowser walked into his class room and took his seat in the most remote corner. He went up to him at once, and gave him a cordial greeting.

"I've come as a learner, Mr. Lloyd," said Mr. Bowser. "I know little or nothing about the Bible, and I want you to teach me."

"I am sure I shall be most happy to do anything that lies in my power, Mr. Bowser," responded Mr. Lloyd, heartily, "and there are others in the class that you will find will help you also."

And so Mr. Bowser, putting aside all foolish notions about pride or self-importance, became one of the most faithful and attentive attendants of the Bible class. Rain or shine, the whole year round, his chair was rarely vacant, until Mr. Lloyd came to look upon him as his model member, and to feel somewhat lost, if for any reason he was compelled to be absent.

But Mr. Lloyd was not his only guide and instructor. Dr. Chrystal had attracted him from the very first. The sermon he preached on that eventful Sunday evening, when, yielding to an impulse which seemed to him little better than curiosity, he had attended church for the first time in so many years, had been followed by others, each one of which met some need or answered some question springing up in Mr. Bowser's heart, and his admiration and affection for the eloquent preacher had increased with a steady growth.

In truth, Dr. Chrystal was a man of no common mould. He united in himself characteristics that might seem to have belonged to widely different natures. He was deeply spiritual, yet intensely alive to the spirit of the times. He was as thoroughly conversant with modern thought as he was with the history of God's ancient people. Although a profound student, he was anything but a Dr. Dry-as-Dust. On the contrary, the very children heard him gladly because he never forgot them in his sermons. There was always something for them as well as for the older folks. Indeed, perhaps one of the best proofs of his singular fitness for his work was the way the young people loved him. Boys like Bert and Frank, for instance, probably the hardest class in the congregation for the minister to secure to himself, while they never for a moment felt tempted to take any liberties with him, yet, on the other hand, never felt ill at ease in his presence, nor sought to avoid him. He made them feel at home with him, and the consequence was that the proportion of boys belonging to his church exceeded that of any other church in the city.

Dr. Chrystal had of late been causing his friends no small concern by showing signs of failing health. His heart began to give him trouble. So much so, indeed, that now and then he would be obliged to pause in the midst of his sermon, and rest a little before resuming. His physician told him he had been working too hard, and that what he needed was to take things more easily, or, better still, to lay aside his work for a season, and recuperate by a good long vacation.

At first he would not listen to any such proposition. There seemed so much to be done all around him that would be undoubtedly left undone unless he did it himself, that he felt as if he could not desert his post. But it soon became clear to him that the warnings he had received must be heeded, and ere long he was able to make up his mind to follow the physician's advice, and indulge himself with an ocean voyage, and prolonged vacation in Europe.

As the time for his temporary separation from his congregation drew near there was a marked increase of fervour and loving earnestness on the part of Dr. Chrystal toward his people. It was as though he thought he might perhaps never return to them, and it therefore behoved him not only to preach with special unction, but to lose no opportunity of saying to each one with whom he came in contact something that might remain with them as a fruitful recollection in the event of its proving to be his last word to them. Meeting Bert upon the street one day, he linked his arm with his, and entered at once into a conversation regarding the boy's spiritual interests. Bert felt perfectly at home with his pastor, and did not hesitate to speak with him in the same spirit of frank unreserve that he would with his father.

"I have been thinking much about you, Bert," said Dr. Chrystal, in tones of warm affection, "and saying to myself that if, in the providence of God, I should never come back to my work, I would like to leave something with you that would linger in your memory after I am gone."

"But you're coming back again all right, Dr. Chrystal," said Bert, looking up with much concern in his countenance, for he had never thought of its being otherwise.

"I am sure I hope and pray so with all my heart," replied Dr. Chrystal, fervently. "But there are many things to be considered, and God alone knows how it will be with me a few months hence. I am altogether in His hands."

"Well, God knows right well that we couldn't have a better minister than you, sir, and so there's no fear but He'll send you back to us all right," returned Bert, his eager loyalty to his pastor quite carrying him away.

Dr. Chrystal smiled sympathetically at the boy's enthusiasm.

"There are just as good fish in the sea as have ever yet been caught, Bert," he answered.

"I thoroughly appreciate your kind, and I know sincere, compliment, but it was not to talk about myself that I joined you, but about yourself. I have been thinking that it is full time you took up some definite work for your Heavenly Master. Don't you think so, too?"

"Yes, I do, sir; and so does Frank, and we're both quite willing to make a beginning, but we don't just know what to go at."

"I have been thinking about that, too, Bert, and I have an idea I want to discuss with you. You know the streets that lie between the north and south portions of our city, and how densely they are packed with people, very few of whom make any pretensions to religion at all. Now, would it not be possible for you and Frank to do a little city missionary work in those streets. The field is white unto the harvest, but the labourers are so few that it is sad to see how little is being done. What do you think about it?"

Bert did not answer at once. He knew well the locality Dr. Chrystal had in mind, and the class of people that inhabited it. For square after square, tenement houses, tall, grimy, and repulsive, alternated with groggeries, flaunting, flashy, and reeking with iniquity. The residents were of the lowest and poorest order. Filth, vice, and poverty, held high carnival the whole year round. In the day time crowds of tattered roughs played rudely with one another in the streets, and after dark, drunken soldiers, sailors, and wharf men, made night hideous with their degraded revelry or frenzied fighting.

And yet these people had souls to save, and even though they might seem sunken in sin beyond all hope of recovery, they had children that might be trained to better ways and a brighter future. It was these children that Dr. Chrystal had in mind when he spoke to Bert. A union mission school had lately been established in the very heart of this unattractive district, and it was sorely in need of workers.

Both Bert and Frank were quite competent to undertake work of this kind, did they but give their minds to it, and Dr. Chrystal was anxious to have their interest in it thoroughly aroused before he went away.

After a few moments' silence, during which his brain had been very busy with conflicting thoughts, Bert looked up into his pastor's face, and said, in a doubtful way:

"Don't you think, sir, that is rather hard work to put us at at first?"

Dr. Chrystal gave him a tender smile. "It is hard work, I know, Bert," said he. "I would not for a moment try to argue that it is anything else, but I am none the less desirous of seeing you engaged in it. You and Frank would make splendid recruiting sergeants for the little mission school, and you could be very helpful in keeping order, or even in teaching at the morning session. By doing this you would not interfere with either your church-going or your own Sunday school in the afternoon. I wish you would talk the matter over with Frank, and, of course, consult your parents about it."

Bert readily promised that he would do this, for although he, as was natural enough, shrank from undertaking what could not be otherwise than trying and difficult work, yet he felt that if his father fully approved of it, and Frank took it up heartily, he would be able at least to give it a trial. Dr. Chrystal was evidently well pleased with the result of the conversation, and in parting with Bert took his hand in his, and pressing it warmly, said:

"God's best blessings be upon you, Bert. You are fitted to do good work for Him. May you ever be a workman that needeth not to be ashamed."

Little did Bert imagine that these would be the last words Dr. Chrystal would address to him personally, or that, as he turned away with a seraphic smile upon his face, he would see him but once more alive.

The following Sunday was the last that Dr. Chrystal would spend with his congregation previous to his going away, and as he appeared before them at the morning service it was the general opinion that his abstention from work was taking place none too soon, for he certainly seemed to sorely need it.

In spite of evident weakness, he preached with unabated eloquence and fervour. Indeed, he was perhaps more earnest than usual, and his sermon made a profound impression upon the congregation that thronged the church. In the afternoon he visited the Sunday school, and said a word or two to each one of the teachers as he passed up and down the classes. The evening service found the church filled to its utmost capacity, and a smile of inexpressible love and sweetness illuminated the pastor's pale face as he came out from the study, and beheld the multitude gathered to hear the Gospel from his lips.

"Doesn't he look like an angel?" whispered Bert to Frank, as the boys sat together in their accustomed place.

"He doesn't simply look like one. He is one," Frank whispered back, and Bert nodded his assent.

The service proceeded with singing, and prayer, and Bible reading, and then came the sermon. Dr. Chrystal was evidently labouring under strong emotion. His words did not at first flow with their wonted freedom, and some among his listeners began to think it would have been well if he had not attempted to preach. But presently all this hesitation passed away, and he launched out into an earnest impassioned appeal to his people to be steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord. Although he did not say expressly that this might be the last time he would ever speak to them from the pulpit, there was something in his manner that showed this thought was present in his mind.

He had got about half through his sermon, and every eye in that congregation was fixed upon him, and every ear attent to his burning words, when suddenly he stopped. A deadly pallor took possession of his face; he pressed his left hand with a gesture of pain against his heart, while with the other he strove to steady himself in the pulpit. For a moment he stood there silent, and swaying to and fro before the startled congregation; and then, ere Mr. Lloyd, who had been watching him intently all through the service, could spring up the steps to his side, he fell back with a dull thud upon the cushioned seat behind him, and thence sank to the floor.

When Mr. Lloyd reached him, and bending down lifted him in his strong arms from the floor, Dr. Chrystal opened his eyes, looked upon his friend with a smile that seemed a reflection from heaven, breathed softly the words: "The Lord be with you," and then, with a gentle sigh, closed his eyes to open them again in the presence of the Master he had served so well.

It is not possible to describe the scene that followed, when all present became aware that their beloved pastor had gone from them upon a journey from which there could be no returning. They were so stunned, saddened, and bewildered that they knew not what to do with themselves. The men and women sat weeping in their seats, or wandered aimlessly about the aisles to speak with one another, while the children, not realising the full import of what had happened, looked on in fear and wonder. It was some time before the congregation dispersed. Dr. Chrystal's body was tenderly carried into the study, and there was nothing more to do; and yet they lingered about as if hoping that perhaps it might prove to be only a faint or trance, after all, for it seemed so hard to believe the dreadful truth.

As Bert and Frank walked home together, with hearts full to overflowing and tear-stained faces, Mr. Silver caught up to them, and pushing them apart, took an arm of each. For a few steps he said nothing; and then, as if musing to himself:

"'God buries His workmen, but His work goes on.' Our pastor has gone. He is not—because God has taken him—not dead, but translated. Upon whom will his mantle fall, boys?"

"I am sure I don't know, Mr. Silver," replied Bert. "But this I do know, that we can never have a better minister."

"No, I suppose not—according to our way of thinking, at all events; but we must not let that thought paralyse our energies. The vacant pulpit has its lesson for each one of us, boys," returned Mr. Silver.

"Yes, it means work, and it seems so strange that Dr. Chrystal should have spoken to me as he did the very last time he saw me," said Bert. And then he proceeded to repeat the conversation concerning the city mission work.

"I am so glad he spoke to you about that," said Mr. Silver. "I had intended doing so myself, but it has been far better done now. You will do what you can, both of you?"

"Yes, we will," replied Bert and Frank together, in tones of unmistakable purpose.

"Perhaps, then," said Mr. Silver, reflectively, "the question I asked a moment ago may yet be answered by you, dear boys. Would you like to think that Dr. Chrystal's mantle should fall upon you, and that in due time you should take up the glorious work he has just laid down? To what nobler career can a man aspire than that of being one of the Master's shepherds?"

The boys were silent. The thought was new to them, and altogether too great to be grasped at once. And Mr. Silver wisely did not press them for an answer before he bade them "Good-night, and God bless you both."

But his question remained in their minds. It proved a seed thought that in the case of one of them was later on destined to find itself in good ground, and to spring up and bear goodly fruit.



CHAPTER XXXII.

A BOY NO LONGER.

Frank and Bert put their hearts into the city mission work, just as they did into everything else that they undertook, and it was well they did. For surely nothing save genuine zeal, and fidelity to a strong purpose could have carried them through the experiences that awaited them. The mission school was still small and struggling. But for the almost heroic energies of its superintendent, a clerk in a city banking house, it could not have been carried on at all. He was a small, slight, fragile-looking man, but he had a heart big enough for a giant, and having consecrated his spare hours to this most unattractive of all phases of Christian work, he carried it on with a self-denying earnestness that no difficulties could dampen, nor obstacles appal. He was as ready with his purse, to the extent of its slender ability, as he was with his Bible, and his splendid unselfishness was so well appreciated by the dangerous degraded beings among whom he toiled, that alone and unprotected he might go among them at any hour of the day or night, and meet with nothing but respect and rude courtesy.

Such a man was David McMaster, under whose direction Bert and Frank lost no time in placing themselves; and a right glad welcome they had from him, his pale, thin face fairly glowing with pleasure at the addition to his force of two such promising recruits. With him they went the rounds of squalid tenements, hideous back alleys, and repulsive shanties, the tattered children gazing at them with faces in which curiosity was mingled with aversion, and their frousy parents giving them looks of enmity and mistrust, no doubt because they were so clean and well dressed.

But apparently noting nothing of this, Mr. McMaster led the way from one rookery to another, introducing his new workers to their wretched inhabitants with an easy grace that disarmed all suspicion, and made them feel that so long as he was the presiding genius of the school, they had nothing to fear in the worst locality.

The following Sunday morning they began work on their own account. The school was held at ten o'clock, closing just in time to permit the teachers to get to church, and the part assigned to Bert and Frank was to go out into the highways and byways, and invite the children playing in the dirt to come to the school, or else to go to the homes, if such they could be called, of those whose names were already upon the roll, and secure their attendance at the service.

Then when the school opened they found plenty to do, distributing the hymn books, helping in the singing, keeping a sharp look-out for unruly behaviour, watching the door lest any scholar should take it into his head to bolt, insuring an equitable division of the picture papers, and so on until the hour came to close the school, and they turned their steps churchward, feeling with good reason that they had really been doing work for God, and hard work, too.

They soon grew to love Mr. McMaster as much as they admired his zeal. He was in many ways a quaint, curious character. His body seemed so small and insignificant, and his spirit so mighty. He knew neither fear nor despair in the prosecution of his chosen work, and it was impossible to be associated with him without being infected by his unquenchable ardour. For some time no special incident marked their work, and then Bert had an experience that might have brought his part with it to an end had he been made of less sturdy stuff.

In company with Mr. McMaster he was making the usual round previous to the opening of the school, beating up unreliable scholars, and had entered a damp, noisome alley, lined on either side with tumble-down apologies for houses. Mr. McMaster took one side and Bert the other, and they proceeded to visit the different dwellers in this horrible place. Bert had knocked at several doors without getting any response, for the people were apt to lie in bed late on Sunday morning, and then his attention was aroused by sounds of crying mingled with oaths, that came from the garret of a villainous-looking tenement. He could hear the voices of a woman and of a child raised in entreaty and terror, and without pausing to consider the consequences, sprang up the broken stairs to the room from which they issued.

On opening the door a scene presented itself that would have stirred the sympathies of a man of stone. Pat Brannigan, the big wharf labourer, had devoted the greater portion of his week's wages to making himself and his boon companions drunk with the vile rum dealt out at the groggery hard by. At midnight he had stumbled home, and throwing himself upon his bed sought to sleep off the effects of his carouse. Waking up late in the morning with a raging headache, a burning tongue, and bloodshot eyes, he had become infuriated at his poor, little girl, that cowered tremblingly in a corner, because she would not go out and get him some more drink. Half-crazed, and utterly reckless, he had sprung at the child, and might have inflicted mortal injury upon her had not the mother interposed, and kept him at bay for a moment, while she joined her shrieks to those the girl was already uttering.

It was just at this moment that Bert entered the room. As quick as a flash he sprang to Pat Brannigan's side, and seized his arm now uplifted to strike down the unhappy wife. With a howl of rage the big brute turned to see who had thus dared to interfere. He did not know Bert, and his surprise at seeing a well-dressed stranger in the room made him hesitate a moment. Then with an oath he demanded:

"Who may you be, and what's your business here?"

Bert looked straight into his eyes, as he answered, quietly:

"I heard the noise, and I came in to see what was the matter."

"Then you can just be taking yourself off again as fast as you like," growled the giant, fiercely.

Bert did not stir.

"Be off with you now. Do you hear me?" shouted Brannigan, raising his clenched fist in a way there was no mistaking.

Still Bert did not move.

"Then take that," yelled Brannigan, aiming a terrible blow at the boy. But before it could reach him the poor wife, with a wild shriek, sprang in between them, and her husband's great fist descended upon her head, felling her to the floor, where she lay as though dead.

At this moment, Mr. McMaster rushed in through the open door. Pat Brannigan knew him well, and when sober held him in profound respect. Even now his appearance checked his fury, and he stood swaying in the centre of the room, looking with his bleared, bloodshot eyes, first at Mr. McMaster, and then at the motionless heap upon the floor at his feet.

Advancing a step or two, Mr. McMaster looked into Brannigan's fiery face, and asked, sternly, as he pointed to the insensible woman lying between them:

"Is that your work?"

The giant quailed before the fearless, condemning glance of the man who seemed like a pigmy beside him. His head fell upon his breast, and without attempting a reply, he slunk over to the other end of the room, flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.

"Come, Bert, let us lift her up on the bed," said Mr. McMaster, and between them Mrs. Brannigan was lifted gently, and placed upon the miserable bed.

"Now, Katie, get us some cold water, quick," said he, turning to the little girl, who watched him with wondering eyes. As if glad to get out of the room, she sped away, and presently returned with a tin of water, with which Mr. McMaster tenderly bathed Mrs. Brannigan's forehead, and soon the poor sufferer recovered consciousness. Mr. McMaster and Bert then went away, the former promising to look in again after school was over, and see if further help might be required.

When Bert told of the morning's experience at home, his mother became very much agitated, and seemed strongly inclined to oppose his continuing the work. But Mr. Lloyd was not of the same opinion at all. He thought it a very admirable training for Bert, and Bert himself had no disposition to give it up. Accordingly, he went on as though nothing had happened, meeting with many discouragements, and few real successes, yet sustained by a steady impulse to willing service, strengthened by a real interest in the work itself.

The days of Bert's boyhood were rapidly passing by. The time was approaching for him to enter college, and once enrolled as an undergraduate he could of course be counted a boy no longer. Not indeed that he was growing old in the sense of becoming too prim or particular to indulge in boyish sports and pranks. There was nothing premature in his development. He was in advance of many boys of his age, it is true, but that was only because he strove to be.

He was not content unless he stood among the leaders, whether in study or sport. He looked forward to college with ardent expectation. Ever since the days of Mr. Garrison's school he had been accustomed to see the students in their Oxford caps and flowing black gowns going to and from the university which had its home in a handsome free-stone building that stood right in the heart of the city, and he had felt impatient for the time to come when he might adopt the same odd and striking costume.

During the past year his studies had been directed with special reference to the matriculation examination. As regards the classics, he could not have had a better teacher than Dr. Johnston, and his progress in knowledge of them had been sure and steady. In mathematics, however, he was hardly up to the mark, partly because they were not taught with the same enthusiasm at Dr. Johnston's, and partly because he did not take to them very kindly himself. Mr. Lloyd accordingly thought it wise to engage a tutor who would give him daily lessons during the mid-summer holidays.

Bert, as was quite natural, did not altogether relish the idea of mingling work with play in this fashion in the glorious summer weather when the days seemed all too short for the enjoyment that was to be had; but when Frank, who was of course to go to college also, entered heartily into the plan, and Mr. Scott, the tutor, proved to be a very able and interesting instructor, full of enthusiasm about the university, in which he was one of the most brilliant students, Bert's indifference soon disappeared, and the three lads—for Mr. Scott was still in his teens—had a fine time together that summer, studying hard for two hours each morning, and spending the rest of the day in boating, or cricket, or some other pleasant fashion.

As the heat of summer yielded to the cool breezes of autumn, and the time for the opening of the college drew near, Bert grew very excited. There were two scholarships offered at each matriculation examination, one open to those coming from the city, the other to those from the country. He had fixed his ambition upon the city scholarship, and determined to do his best to win it. He had caught some of his tutor's enthusiasm, and fully appreciated the importance of a brilliant beginning. Accordingly, he gave diligent heed to the good advice Mr. Scott delighted to give him, as well as to the studies he set for him, and looked forward hopefully to the approaching examination.

Toward the end of October the examination took place. It was the boys' first experience of a written examination, and it is little wonder if they felt nervous about it.

With Mr. Scott as guide they made their way to the university building, where he led them along the echoing stone corridors to a door inscribed, "Library;" and then, wishing them the best of fortune, bade them enter and try their fate. They found themselves in a large bright room whose floor was covered with desks, and the walls lined with bookcases, and having at one end a baize-covered table, around which sat several spectacled gentlemen attired in long black gowns, and chatting busily with one another. They took no notice of the two boys, who sat down at the nearest desk, and awaited developments. They were the first candidates in the room, but others presently came in until more than a score had gathered.

All evidently felt more or less nervous, although some tried very hard to appear unconcerned. They varied in age from Bert, who was undoubtedly the youngest, to a long-bearded, sober-visaged Scotchman, who might almost have been his father; their appearance was as different as their ages, some being spruce, well-dressed city lads, and others the most rustic-looking of youths, clad in rough homespun. They each sat down in the first seat they could find, and then stared about them as if they would like very much to know what was going to happen next.

They had not long to wait in uncertainty. A short, stout, pleasant-faced professor disengaged himself from the group at the table, and stepping up to the platform, said, in a smooth voice, with a strong Scotch accent:

"If you are ready to begin, gentlemen, will you please arrange yourselves so as to occupy only every alternate desk."

There was a little noise and bustle as this order was being carried out, and then they settled down again, with a vacant desk between each pair as a precaution against whispered assistance. The next proceeding was to distribute paper to the candidates, they being expected to supply their own pens and ink. And then came what all were awaiting with beating pulse—viz., the examination paper. Each one as he received his paper ran his eye eagerly down the list of questions, his countenance growing bright or gloomy according as, to this hasty survey, the questions seemed easy or difficult.

Bert scanned his list rapidly, gave a great sigh of relief, and then turned to Frank with a meaning smile, which said more plainly than words:

"I'm all right."

Frank smiled back, in token that he was all right, too, and then the two boys bent to their work.

They did not get along very fast at the start. It was their first written examination, and this, added to their natural nervousness, kept both their ideas and their ink from flowing freely. But after a few minutes they forgot themselves in their eagerness to commit to paper the answers to the questions before them, and for an hour or more they scribbled away until the first paper, which was upon the classics, had nothing unanswered left upon it.

Bert finished first, and the professor, noticing him unemployed, brought him another paper, this time the mathematical one. As he expected, he did not do quite as well with it. But he felt sure of being right in his answers to six out of the ten questions, and very hopeful about two others, so that altogether he was well satisfied.

The third and last paper was upon the English branches—history, grammar, geography, and so forth, and he polished this off with little difficulty, making a clean sweep of the dozen questions. All this took until after one o'clock, and when he laid down his pen with his task finished, he felt pretty tired, and anxious to get out and stretch himself. Frank, however, was not quite through, so he waited for him, and then the friends hurried off to compare notes, and estimate their chances.

The results would not be declared for two days at least, and Bert found it very hard to keep his impatience in check. He could think of nothing else than those examinations. Having answered so many questions, he felt not the slightest uneasiness as to passing; but the scholarship—ah! that was the point. Mr. Scott had made it very clear what an important position a scholarship winner held in his class. It gave him the lead at once, and was in every way an honour to be highly coveted.

Well, the longest days have their ending, and the two days of excited uncertainty dragged themselves past, and on Friday morning with a heart beating like a trip hammer, Bert hastened to the university. The results would be posted up on a huge blackboard that hung in the central corridor, and on entering he found an eager crowd thronging about this board, through which he had some difficulty in making his way. But by dint of pushing and elbowing, he soon got near enough to make out what was written on the long sheets of paper that occupied the centre of the board, and then—how shall be described the bound of wild delight his heart gave, when he read: "The City Scholarship—CUTHBERT LLOYD."

THE END