business."

He stooped, lifted the bag of tools to his shoulders, and before Tommy
could stay him had moved some steps away.

"Don't go yet, tell me some more about what you'd do," and Tommy turned
to follow him.

But was it the boy? And was that a bag of tools on his back? It had
grown strangely longer and heavier now, so that it dragged on the
ground, and the face was the face of the Picture, and lo, it turned
toward him, and the hand was raised in benediction and farewell, "I am
with you always," and he was gone.

"Oh! come back, come back," sobbed Tommy, reaching out his arms and
struggling to run after him.

"Poor boy," said his mother, wiping the blinding tears from his eyes,
"your sleep didn't do you much good."

"I've not been asleep," said Tommy; "I've been talking with - with -
Him," and he spoke low with a longing reverence and pointed to the
Picture.

"It was a dream, my child."

"Mother, it was a vision. I saw Him, when He was a little boy in His own
town, Nazareth. And, mother, I even told Him it wasn't much of a place
to live in. He talked to me about Bob. He said you knew Him. I saw him
cure a little bird. And oh, mother, He said He would be with me always.