“No,” she replied, stopping short; “do you?” “Yes,” replied Tom; “I know all the hymn.” “Well, then, sing it,” she demanded. Tom looked toward Mrs. Sutherland, but her eyes were turned away, so he looked down into the waiting face upturned toward him, and softly and gently gave the sweet words: “Jesus loves me--this I know, For the Bible tells me so; Little ones to him belong; They are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me. “Jesus loves me--he who died: Heaven’s gate to open wide; He will wash away my sin, Let his little child come in. Yes, Jesus loves me. “Jesus loves me--he will stay Close beside me all the way; If I love him when I die, He will take me home on high. Yes, Jesus love me.” She had kept her black eyes fixed upon his face throughout the hymn, and when he had finished, seeing his earnestness, she asked: “Do _you_ love Jesus?” How it startled him! He glanced quickly toward the two listeners, but Mrs. Sutherland had not changed her position, and the master’s eyes were on the floor and his face unreadable. It was a pity they were not looking at him, for as his eyes came back to the questioner and saw how she was awaiting his reply, all the new love and allegiance flashed back upon him, and his reply was given with a smile that was worth seeing. “Oh yes, I love the Lord Jesus.” Then he rose and moved toward the door, but his bare feet on the carpet made no sound. He stopped at the threshold and waited for a word, but none came; so he said: “Good-evening, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland.” The mistress dismissed him with a little bow, without raising her head, and the master roused and replied, “Ah! going? Well, good-night. I’ll see you to-morrow.” So Tom went out into the night, clear and beautiful, with innumerable stars shining down out of heaven, and the rich earth lying in the beauty of its early spring dress all about him. Down at the quarters he could see sparkling lights from the fires which the open doors left in view. From the little log-barn, long ago out of use, came the voices of the people who were holding a meeting there. He listened a moment, but he could not catch the words, so he walked nearer, and stopped beneath the tree where he had read his precious letters, and there the words came distinctly to his ear, borne to him by the sweet evening breeze: “My good Lord’s been here, Has been here, has been here: My good Lord’s been here, And blessed my soul, and gone. Seeker, where were you When my good Lord was here?”