In less than a week a small parcel arrived by post addressed to Carol. He knew before he opened it that it contained the little book which he had so longed for, and which would be, if possible, even dearer to him, henceforth, from the circumstances under which he regained it. He took the little parcel to Mrs. Mandeville’s room after breakfast, and opened it there. As he drew the small volume from its cardboard case, he held it up to show her. Then, opening it, he exclaimed in a tone of great surprise, mingled with joy: "Auntie, it is in dear Father’s own handwriting! ’To Carol: from Father.’" "How can it be?" Then, as they examined the writing, they saw that Miss Desmond had cut the words from her letter. So neatly had the foreign paper been gummed in, it was not at first noticeable. "Was it not lovely of Cousin Alicia to think of it, Auntie?" "It was, indeed, dear. You will always realize now that it is your father’s gift." "Yes, Auntie; my earthly father’s and my heavenly Father’s, too. I was thinking this morning of that lovely verse in Isaiah: ’Before they call I will answer: and while they are yet speaking I will hear.’ And I knew that Love had answered before I called. Before I knew my need, it was met. I am glad the letter was delayed so long, because I have learned so much. ’Every trial of our faith in God makes us stronger,’ Mrs. Eddy says. It did seem at first as if I should have to wait years for the book, didn’t it? I am glad I was so sure that Love could and would find a way." As the boy spoke, the Rector walked into the room. In a momentary impulse Carol seized the little book which lay on the table, and held it tightly. A crimson flush suffused his face. The next instant he looked up at his uncle with fearless eyes, and held out the book to him, saying, "Uncle Raymond, Cousin Alicia has sent me the little book Father asked her to get for me, and see--isn’t it beautiful?--’To Carol: from Father,’ is in Father’s own handwriting." The Rector took the book, examined the inscription, but made no remark. "Father did not want me to belong to the nine. You would not like me to either, would you, Uncle Raymond?" "To the nine, boy?--What do you mean?" "You remember, Uncle Raymond, when Jesus once healed ten lepers, nine went thankless away. I have been healed, and I must acknowledge it at all times, else I should be as one of them." A frown gathered on the Rector’s face. "Never speak to me, Carol, of your healing in the same breath with the healings of Jesus." The boy looked sorely pained. For an instant he was silent. In that instant he asked: "Father-Mother God, lead me." Then he said: "May I ask you a question, Uncle Raymond?" "Certainly, Carol; if it is something you want to know." "It is something I often think about, Uncle. Are there any ’shepherds in Israel’ now? Can you tell me?"