At midnight, Biggs, dozing in a big chair by the fire, was aroused by a voice from the sick bed.
"Hiram."
"Yes, sir," scurrying to turn on a subdued light.
"Where is heaven now?"
Noting the wan flicker of a smile, the old servant pointed solemnly downward.
"You are a bright pupil," came in a scarcely audible voice.
"Thank you, sir."
"Do you know, Biggs, I wish I had led a different—a better life."
"You have been a good master, sir. You have been kind, you have given liberally to charity," Biggs defended him.
"Yes," cynically, "I have given liberally to charity. But it has been no sacrifice."
"You have been a pillar in the church," ventured Biggs.
"Yes," bitterly, "a stone pillar. I have paid handsomely for my pew, and slept peacefully through the sermons. I have bought baskets of food for the poor at Thanksgiving and Christmas time, only to let others reap the happiness of giving them away. 1 could have had so much joy out of Christmas, if I would. I could have been a jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus and gone to a hundred homes, my arms loaded with gifts."
"True, sir, but you made that joy possible for others."
"When I should have known the thrill of it myself. I have not really lived, Hiram. To draw the sweets truly out of life, one must humble himself and serve his fellow men. Yes, the scales have fallen from my eyes, Hiram, But it is too late, 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak'."
"It doesn't seem right, sir," said Biggs after a pause.
"What's that, Hiram?"
"Why, sir, that you should be stricken down in the prime of life, just at a time when you could mean so much to others, while I, old and useless, am permitted to live on. But I am not finding fault with Providence, sir," Biggs hastened to say; "I just can't find the meaning of the riddle, sir."
"Probably I've had my chance and fumbled it, Biggs."
"Even so, sir, God is not vindictive, according to my ideas. There surely is some other solution. I'm still going to pray that He will take me in your stead, even if a miracle must be performed."
"So you have faith in your prayers, do you, Biggs?"
"Yes, sir, if they are unselfish prayers."
"That brand is rather scarce, I take it," answered McMasters, but his tone was reflective rather than sarcastic.
"Oh, sir, I wish you would pray as I do. God would surely understand."
"Rather a queer request, Hiram. If my life depends upon your death no prayer shall ever pass my lips."
"But, sir, I'm an old"
"However," interrupted McMasters, "I shall pray that if my life is spared in any; other fashion, I will make full amends for my years of indifference and neglect. And, Hiram, no one knows hour much I truly seek this divine dispensation. But I have always scoffed at death-bed confessions, and so my heart grows cold, for I have no right to ask—now." Again, wearily, "No right—now."
"Ah, master, God is plenteous in mercy. If you but have the faith, sir, it shall make you whole."
"Very good, had I lived as you have lived, Biggs." Then, after a pause, "Still, the cause is worthy, my heart is right and I shall approach the Throne. May God be merciful unto me, a sinner."
"I hope it is not too late yet," faltered "Oh, if God would only call me
