"But, Michael," said Callovan, "I gave a great deal to many good
works. Will none of the gifts count for me?"

"Yes, sir, it is true that you did give much, but," answered Michael,
"the gifts were offerings more often to your own vanity than they were
to God. Motives alone govern the value of sacrifice in the Land of
Death. Look, now, behind you. There is one who can best answer your
question."

Callovan turned to see an old and venerable looking man at the fork of
the roads. He was gazing anxiously at the mountain, as if he dimly saw
the Cross; but his burden was terrific in its weight. It rested on the
ground before him. He scarcely had the courage to take the mountain
road, knowing that the burden must go with him.

"I have seen that man before," said Orville. "They gave him a
reception at our club once. He was a great philanthropist--yet, look
at his burden."

"Philanthropist he was, but I fear he will go on The Road without
Ending," said Michael. "He has many amongst those who can hate for
eternity to hate him."

Suddenly from the multitude of the dead came men and women, who looked
with hatred upon the old man, and surrounded him on every side and
menaced him with threatening fists. "Beast!" shouted one. "I saw the
Cross in life, when I was young. The unbelief your work taught denies
me the sight of it in death. I curse you!"

"One year in the schools you founded," wailed another, "lost me my