can get it, I bet, if you try. I've seen it got. A friend of mine got
it--got it under your preaching; not from you; but you was the accident
that brought it about, I expect. It's funny--it's merakilous, but it's
so. Kneel down!" he added, with peremptory suddenness. "Kneel,
Scranton!"

In fear the other knelt.

"You're going to get religion now--here. You're going to pray for what
you didn't get--and almost got--in the desert. You're going to ask
forgiveness for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for
the spirit to come down. You ain't a scoundrel at heart--a friend of
mine says so. You're a weak vessel, cracked, perhaps. You've got to
be saved, and start right over again--and 'Praise God from whom all
blessings flow!' Pray--pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth,
and get it--get religion. Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out
loud. Remember the desert, and Mary Jewell, and your mother--did you
have a mother, Scranton--say, did you have a mother, lad?"

Tim's voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer
had broken down in a torrent of tears.

"Oh, my mother--O God!" he groaned.

"Say, that's right--that's right--go on," said the other, and drew back a
little, and sat down on a log. The man on his knees was convulsed with
misery. Denton, the world, disappeared. He prayed in agony. Presently
Tim moved uneasily, then got up and walked about; and at last, with a
strange, awed look, when an hour was past, he stole back into the shadow
of the trees, while still the wounded soul poured out its misery and