I felt as if there warn't nothin' left; and then the good Lord, he stood by me, and he says, 'Fear not, Tom;' and he brings light and joy in a poor feller's soul,--makes all peace; and I 's so happy, and loves everybody, and feels willin' jest to be the Lord's, and have the Lord's will done, and be put jest where the Lord wants to put me.

I know it couldn't come from me, cause I 's a poor, complainin' cretur; it comes from the Lord; and I know He's willin' to do for Mas'r." Tom spoke with fast-running tears and choking voice.

St.Clare leaned his head on his shoulder, and wrung the hard, faithful, black hand.
"Tom, you love me," he said.
"I 's willin' to lay down my life, this blessed day, to see Mas'r a Christian." "Poor, foolish boy!" said St.Clare, half-raising himself.

"I'm not worth the love of one good, honest heart, like yours." "O, Mas'r, dere's more than me loves you,--the blessed Lord Jesus loves you." "How do you know that Tom ?" said St.Clare.
"Feels it in my soul.

O, Mas'r! 'the love of Christ, that passeth knowledge.'" "Singular!" said St.Clare, turning away, "that the story of a man that lived and died eighteen hundred years ago can affect people so yet.
But he was no man," he added, suddenly.