One day, as they sat taking their noon-day coffee, a messenger came from a neighboring plantation, begging her to go at once to see a young girl who was very ill. With book in hand, she set out, and arriving at the house a sad, though to her not unusual, sight met her eyes. A girl of about fifteen lay upon the bed, her beautiful black eyes looking strangely bright in contrast with the pale features. The parents and sisters, instead of caring for her, were wringing their hands and wildly crying out, “She is dying! She is dying!” The sick girl feebly stretched out a wasted hand, gasping: “They say that I am dying; teach me quickly how to die; tell me, what must I do?” The old woman gently took her hand and in a soothing voice said: “Don’t be nervous, dear; if you will repeat after me the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria, the prayer to St. Joseph and the rest, and then a new prayer that I have learned from this good book, you need not be afraid.” A sight never to be forgotten by one who knows that there is but the one “name under heaven, given among men whereby we must be saved,” was this death-bed scene. The old woman, in clear tones, rapidly repeated among other things, “Shem, Ham, Japheth, Gomer, Magog, Madai, Javan,” and so on through the long list. The dying girl vainly tried to follow her as her voice grew fainter and fainter, for she was, with all her failing strength, clinging to this false hope as she passed out into eternity. Some years later, the young man who had gotten the Bible in such a curious way, married and left the old house to live at the wife’s homestead. One evening, as the old father sat in his usual place reading, the husband said: “Anninha, what is that book your father is always reading?” “That,” she replied, “is the Bible. He often tells me about what he reads, and it is very interesting. I wish I could read it for myself; but it is a French book, and I can read only Portuguese.” “If it is called the ‘Holy Bible,’” said he, “then my mother has it in Portuguese, for I gave it to her long ago. I never read it myself, but she used to learn things out of it for prayers. They never sounded very interesting to me.” “Could you get it for me, Jose?” she asked. “Yes; I will go over and ask mother for it to-morrow,” promised he.