About this time, and for some weeks later, Tom longed continually to commence a more decided service for his Master. But there were several things that came in the way: First, after his long day’s work in the fields, his evening writing, although only for an hour, was very wearying, and often when he reached the house at night he could not, from fatigue, either study or talk with those who nightly gathered there. Then, too, he felt that if he should undertake a regular Sunday-school, it would meet with opposition from the master, Mr. Sutherland. He had been very kind to him so far, and paid him liberally for his evening work, but Tom had never seen the little girl since that first night, and somehow he connected the little hymn he had taught her and her absence together. Then his pupils had no books, and it seemed to him that whatever other people might do, he could not teach a Sunday-school without books. With it all he became weary and very homesick, longing for the sight of a familiar face. His face grew more sober and his step heavier. He strove against it and tried to feel thankful, but it was hard indeed, and although his friends noticed it less than he imagined, yet Tom was not happy. One night, however, the opportunity for which he had been watching and waiting so long came to him when he least expected it. He turned homeward from his writing on this particular evening very weary and heartsick. Had Martha seen him, she would have known that all was not well with him, but he knew that he was alone, so he allowed his despondent feelings full play. As he lifted the latch of the door and heard the voices within, he heaved a little sigh, wished for an hour’s quiet study with Martha, and then resolutely stepped within the room. There were a number gathered as usual, and they were very busily talking about something, yet they all looked up when Tom came in. “Ah! here he is now,” some one remarked. “Tom,” said one of the men, whose voice he had heard as he came in, “we’ve been talking about you. You see, we’ve come to the conclusion that you knows a heap more’n the rest of us, and we’s been studyin’ as to how maybe you’d be willin’ to teach us a little of nights, after you gets through up to the great house.” “I would very gladly teach you any time, Uncle Silas,” replied Tom, thinking that any hold on their hearts was a gain, “but the trouble here, just as in another plan of mine, is that we have no books.” “But some of us has got books, honey,” said one old woman, “and we’ll lend ’em to those as has none of their own. Now there’s eight of us here to-night, and plenty more that wants to come. What do you say?”