Somehow this first sight of the fields led Tom’s mind back to the letter he had received, telling of other fields, just as “white.” That, and the letter just received from home, had sent his thoughts out after his Sunday-school, of which he had not been able to hear for so many weeks. He hardly dared ask after its welfare even now. But he brought his eyes in from the window, and they rested upon Lillie, sitting in a low chair near him, busily employed in some little manufacture with cotton and needle. He watched the white fingers move to and fro in silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “Miss Lillie, I have not been able to think of my Sunday-school in a very long time.” “I have been waiting for you to speak of it all the afternoon,” said Lillie, rousing herself and stopping her work. “Well?” said Tom, not daring yet to ask the question. “Well,” echoed Lillie, “we consider ourselves something wonderful, I can tell you. We have met every Sunday in the cabin, and Jimmy Harrison--you know him--reads to us from one of the new books and the Bible. He says he cannot pray, so old Uncle Ben prays, and when it comes the time you used to speak to us, I tell them how you are, and what you have been talking about, and then we all try and remember what you have told us and to repeat verses. I did not know there were so many of the people learning to love Jesus, Tom. Then, one Sunday, father came down--it was that Sunday after you and he were talking so long in the morning--and he talked to the people a long time, and they were all so pleased.” There was a great sob which prevented Tom’s reply. He did not know even then--only God knew--what had been accomplished during the summer months on the Sutherland Plantation. “Have the books been distributed, Miss Lillie?” asked Tom when he could find voice. “No, only two or three were taken by Jimmy to read. Then our illuminated text--that one you said was prettier than all the rest, ‘We would see Jesus’--we had put up first over your chair. We have a little table that papa sent down, and my velvet chair stays there now, and last Sunday the back was covered with a beautiful wreath of flowers.” Tom looked out again through dim eyes over the white fields, and thought of the promise: “He that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with joy, bringing his sheaves with him.” Tom thought he had a harvest. Just then Mr. Sutherland opened the door and came in, and coming up to Tom’s chair, asked him “how he was.” “Very happy indeed, sir,” replied Tom with a quiet smile. “What would you like most in the world just at this minute?” asked Mr. Sutherland, whose heart always went out warmly toward the boy who had saved his child. Tom’s eyes grew a little wistful. “I should like most of all to see my sister Martha,” said he; “but next to that,” he added, smiling, “I would like to have you read to me, Mr. Sutherland.”