The next Friday evening, as Ray sat in Mr. Carleton's study, he suddenly asked: "Mr. Carleton, why do you suppose God allowed my arrest to take place? What object could he have had in it? And what is the lesson I am to learn?" Mr. Carleton smiled. "I am quite sure," he said, "we may not know _all_ of God's purpose, but some of it we may know. How about your relation to the Saviour?" Ray answered, quickly: "He sustained me in the greatest trial of my life, and I never loved him or felt his nearness as I do now." "How about the people of Afton?" asked Mr. Carleton. "Well," said Ray, a little mischievously, "I guess, after listening to Mr. Eaton, they have learned the lesson that 'love worketh no ill.'" "They certainly ought," said Mr. Carleton; "and yet I do not think that either of the things you have suggested constitute God's chief purpose in this trial." Then, as though it had nothing to do with the subject, he asked: "What kind of weather had we been having, Ray, previous to the thunder storm of a week ago?" "Why," said Ray, in surprise, "it had been for a week cloudy and misty, and nasty and sticky--regular dog-day weather." "What cleared it away?" inquired Mr. Carleton. "The thunder shower," answered the boy. "It was a terrific one; but when it was over, the sky was clear, the sun shone out, the air was purified, and everything seemed to be wonderfully refreshed." "Exactly," continued Mr. Carleton; "and it illustrates, I believe, what God in this great trial of yours has done for you. Clouds of memory had hung over you from the hour of your conversion--the memory of your past life, of your evil companions, of your old associations. There were many who could not forget them nor overlook them. Then God sent this great trial of your life. It was bitter while it lasted. It aroused the animosity of some; it turned aside for a time the friendship of others, and seemed at one time as though it would overwhelm you. But now that it is over, those clouds of memory have dispersed: there is clear sky above your head. I doubt if in your social relations to the people of Afton, or your Christian relations to the members of the First Church, you will ever again hear any allusion to your old life, or ever again have your Christian faith spoken lightly of." And he never did. CHAPTER X. FRUIT AT THE MILLS. "Well, then, Ray, good-bye until Monday. We shall see you then?" Mr. George Woodhull said, as the boy stepped into a boat at the Long Point Farm wharf, and took up the oars. "Yes; if nothing happens, you may look for me Monday night after school," Ray replied, dipping the oars into the water, and pulling slowly away toward Afton.