you that I know Him well and that He is my best friend."

"What, old Al Jones?"

"No,--Christ," replied Percy, with a grieved expression plainly
discernible.

"Oh," said the driver.

They drove past the Jones residence and out into the field beyond.
The house one might have thought deserted except for the well-beaten
paths and the presence of chickens in the yard. It was a large
structure with two and a half stories. The cornice and window
trimmings revealed the beauty and wealth of former days. Rare shrubs
still grew in the spacious front yard, and gnarled remnants of
orchard trees were to be seen in the rear. A dozen other buildings,
large and small, occupied the background, some with the roofs partly
fallen, others evidently still in use.

"How old do you suppose these buildings are?" asked Percy of the
driver.

"About a hundred years," he replied, "and I reckon they've had no
paint nor fixin' since they was built, 'cept they have to give some
of 'em new shingles now and then or they'd all fall to pieces like
the old barns back yonder."

Percy examined the soil in several places on the Jones farm and on
other farms in the neighborhood. They lunched on crackers and canned
beans at a country store and made a more extended drive in the