The children, happy in having done a kindness, hurried to their mother, and were soon showing and admiring the papers and cards; she, mother-like, very naturally shared their pleasure, but thought of the stranger with a pang of regret, for she feared that he would take the road leading into an unsettled region, infested with wild beasts and roving Indians. After admiring the pictures, she told the children all she knew of the Sunday-school, for which these beautiful things were made, at the same time hoping that her husband’s opposition to them might be removed. “I wish there was Sunday-school here,” said George. “Won’t there be Sunday-school here, mother?” exclaimed both at once. “I’m afraid not,” said their mother, sorrowfully, knowing the hostility of many of the neighbors toward anything of the kind. “Why not, mother?” innocently asked the children. This was one of those questions children often ask, and which it is so hard to answer. “I don’t know,” she replied, evasively, adding, “go give your father and Mr. Kerr their cards. They are at the barn.” Hurrying out, their noisy delight soon arrested the attention of the men. “What in the world is up now?” wondered their father. “See here, father, see here!” exclaimed the children, holding out the cards. “Who gave you these?” said he, reaching out his hand for the gifts, and suspecting the source. “The man at the gate; we gave him a drink, and he gave us these (showing their cards) and a little book for mother, and this one for you and that one for Mr. Kerr.” Looking for a moment at the engraving, he read, “For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” Instantly the terrible reproof, associated with these words, awakened the man’s slumbering conscience. Writhing under its force he tried to construe the innocent gift into an insult; then flinging it to the ground he stamped his foot upon it. At this exhibition of anger all the joy of the children vanished. Mary began to cry, and George wondered what there was about the card to offend his father. In the meantime, Mr. Kerr had read his card. The words were, “And _these_ shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.” “What have you got?” sneeringly asked Mr. Steele, of his companion. Mr. Kerr read the text with some emotion. “Just what I expected! he thought to give us a cut,” said the angry man, at the same time adding many abusive words. Mr. Kerr tried to assent to the remarks, but the words upon the card had touched his heart; and he felt like hating himself for having yielded, against his convictions, to the unreasonableness of his neighbor toward an unoffending stranger. Putting the card in his pocket, he was compelled to be an unwilling listener to the tirade of a would-be Christian (for Mr. Steele was a member of church) against prayer-meetings, temperance societies and Sunday-schools.