"My heart is not satisfied to think," observed Laurence, "that Mr. Eliot’s
labors have done no good, except to a few Indians of his own time.
Doubtless, he would not have regretted his toil, if it were the means of
saving but a single soul. But it is a grievous thing to me, that he should
have toiled so hard to translate the Bible, and now the language and the
people are gone! The Indian Bible itself is almost the only relic of
both."

"Laurence," said his Grandfather, "if ever you should doubt that man is
capable of disinterested zeal for his brother’s good, then remember how
the apostle Eliot toiled. And if you should feel your own self-interest
pressing upon your heart too closely, then think of Eliot’s Indian Bible.
It is good for the world that such a man has lived, and left this emblem
of his life."

The tears gushed into the eyes of Laurence, and he acknowledged that Eliot
had not toiled in vain. Little Alice put up her arms to Grandfather, and
drew down his white head beside her own golden locks.

"Grandfather," whispered she, "I want to kiss good Mr. Eliot!"

And, doubtless, good Mr. Eliot would gladly receive the kiss of so sweet a
child as little Alice, and would think it a portion of his reward in
heaven.

Grandfather now observed, that Dr. Francis had written a very beautiful
Life of Eliot, which he advised Laurence to peruse. He then spoke of King
Philip’s war, which began in 1675, and terminated with the death of King
Philip, in the following year. Philip was a proud, fierce Indian, whom Mr.