“The Lord’s work needs hands always,” she wrote. “I took up a book the other day when I was feeling rather listless and inclined to remain at home, and I had not read two verses of a hymn upon which my eyes fell before I laid it down, put on my bonnet and went out to visit my scholars. Isn’t there some work for you, Tom, among all those people? Suppose you remember the two verses I read, and if they affect you as they did me, it will not be long before the Lord’s work comes ready at your hands.” “Two hands across the breast, And work is done; Two pale feet crossed in rest The race is run; Two eyes with coin-weights shut, And all tears cease; Two lips where grief is mute, And wrath at peace: So pray we ofttimes, mourning our lot; God in his kindness answereth not. “Two hands to work addressed, Aye for his praise! Two feet that never rest, Walking his ways; Two eyes that look above, Still through all tears; Two lips that speak but love, Never more fears: So cry we afterward low on our knee, Pardon those erring prayers--Father, hear these!” “I was feeling just in the mood that the first verse expresses, Tom, but the second verse sent me out. Can we do too much for Him who said, ‘the fields are white unto the harvest,’ and who told us through his blessed apostle John, ‘Let him that heareth say, Come’?” Tom drank in every word of this letter as one who was athirst, and he had just put it away the morning after its reception, after a third reading, and was bending over his writing, when Mr. Sutherland came in and sat down to read the newspaper. Tom’s pen moved more slowly. He glanced frequently from his task to Mr. Sutherland, and once or twice held his pen above the paper, watching him as though he wished to speak, and finally, when Mr. Sutherland laid down his reading, Tom lifted his head and spoke--very faintly, indeed, at first: “Mr. Sutherland, I wanted to ask a favor of you.” “Well, Tom, be in a hurry; I must get over to the other plantation.” This was not very cheering, but after the first effort he gained fresh courage: “I have long been wishing to start a Sunday-school among the people, Mr. Sutherland. Have you any objection to my undertaking it?” “Isn’t one school enough for you, Tom?” asked Mr. Sutherland, a little gruffly. “No, sir,” he replied, with a little smile--“not while I can do more good.” “There is no place to hold a Sunday-school,” objected the master. “There is an empty log-cabin out beyond the quarters, which would do very well in warm weather.” “Then I suppose you will shout and make a great noise about it.” “No, sir, indeed,” urged Tom; “it will be as quiet as white people’s schools--as near like the one I have been attending all the year as I can possibly make it.”