The question wont to the father's heart with dagger-like poignancy. The vision of his suffering wife, gasping her life away in the last fearful stages of consumption, her comfortless sick-room unwarmed, unlighted, and the thick darkness which he knew would enshroud her mind, when made aware of the extent of their destitution, would have driven him to distraction, were it not that he yet had hope in One mighty to save. He fled to his closet, and there, in an agony of prayer, besought the Lord for help; and, forgetting all other wants, plead and plead again for the two articles now specially needed, specifying them with reiterated earnestness. He arose from his knees in full assurance of faith and with heavenly tranquillity, and went forth, expecting deliverance, looking for it, however, in but one way,—through his own earnings. But after a fruitless day of seeking employment, gloomily he returned home. He entered his gate, and was startled to see before him a generous pile of wood. Little Johnny opened the door, clapping his hands, exclaiming,— "Oh, pa! we've got some wood and some candles!" "But where did you get them? Are you sure they were not left here by mistake?" "Oh, no, pa!" interrupted Hatty, "they were not left by mistake. A man knocked at the door with his whip, and when I opened it, he asked if you lived here. I told him you did. Then he said, 'Here are some candles and a load of wood for him.'" "I asked him if you sent them, and he said, 'I rather guess your pa don't know any thing about it.'" "Who did send them, then?" said I. "'Oh,' said he, 'I musn't tell, but you may say to your father that they are a present.'" But to what instrumentality they were indebted for the relief was a mystery. And what particularly interested Deacon P. was, the character of the anonymous presents; that the very things so much needed, and no others, should be sent, and he was sure he had mentioned his want of them to no human ear. He questioned the children anew. They described the man who knocked at the door, the horse and truck he drove. A new thought struck him. "Why," said he, "that team belongs to my old enemy, Graff. Can it be possible he is the donor? If so, surely the finger of God has touched his heart." Deacon P. was, however, so convinced that he was their benefactor, that he resolved on an immediate call on that gentleman. But who was Mr. Graff?