The lad was thoughtful for a moment too, and then an exciting incident occurred; for they saw a fox running across a meadow, and of course the boy must needs chase it. What boy could resist such a chance as that? He came back hot, but pleased, and ready to endure the banter of his friend, who had been watching with an indulgent look upon his benevolent face, and thinking of his own boyhood as if it were but yesterday. After that they had a talk about amusements; but when that subject had been dropped, and a silence had fallen between them, the boy suddenly asked, “Mr. Harris, what do you think about Jesus Christ?” Harris replied very gently, “I think He was the greatest and best Man that ever lived.” “But don’t you think, sir,” said his questioner, wistfully, “that He must have been more than a man to do all the things He did—that is, if He ever did do them—I suppose we cannot be sure of that.” Harris detected the tones of regret in the boy’s voice. “Why cannot we be sure?” he said. “The writers of the biographies of Jesus Christ are certainly as much to be believed as any other writers, to say the least of it; and for my part I have not any doubt that they told the truth about Him. Dick, my boy, you cannot do without Jesus Christ. He is the best Friend a man ever had—don’t doubt that; and as for a poor, hard-working lad like you, why, you will find the world a very dark place if you try to shut Him out of it.” “But I don’t want to,” said Dick. “I like to read about Him. There is nothing sham about Him, is there, sir?” “Sham! There is nothing half so real as Jesus Christ,” and Harris took off his hat. “I am glad you think so,” the boy said gently, putting his hand affectionately on the arm of his master. Young Nelson never forgot this talk, and it influenced his whole life. Mr. Harris was half touched, half amused at the incident. He spoke of it to Margaret that evening, for she kept all his confidences, and thoroughly understood him. “I am not quite the sceptic I think myself, I suppose,” he said. “Certainly, the longer I live the more am I impressed by the strong personality of the marvellous Man of Nazareth. I think His time is coming nearer; and it will be a happy time, indeed, for the world. Do you see the signs, Margaret?” So they talked together; and presently he asked her to sing “one of the old, old hymns,” and she sang “Jesus, the very thought of Thee,” and he joined in as if he felt it. Indeed, that night, after Margaret had left him, sitting as he loved to sit, with the blinds up, and the moonlight filling the room, she heard him sing softly the words, which for so many generations loyal lips have sung to Jesus; and she said to herself, “Dear Graf! Why does he call himself an unbeliever?”