work is finished!"

It was finished. Here was a Bible for the Indians. Those long-lost
descendants of the ten tribes of Israel would now learn the history of
their forefathers. That grace which the ancient Israelites had forfeited
was offered anew to their children.

There is no impiety in believing that, when his long life was over, the
apostle of the Indians was welcomed to the celestial abodes by the
prophets of ancient days and by those earliest apostles and evangelists
who had drawn their inspiration from the immediate presence of the
Saviour. They first had preached truth and salvation to the world. And
Eliot, separated from them by many centuries, yet full of the same
spirit, has borne the like message to the New World of the west. Since
the first days of Christianity, there has been no man more worthy to be
numbered in the brotherhood of the apostles than Eliot.

"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