humanity, that has done everything for me."

Alice was deeply touched by her Uncle's self-accusation. He had been
good to her, and not unkind to others. But he was drifting in a sea
of doubt, and really wishing to live his life over again. She felt
sorry, but what could she say to give his mind peace? She would begin
on the material plane.

"Uncle, how much money have you?"

"That's what troubles me, Alice. When I left home"--his voice
lingered on the word--"I gave my wife and children two-thirds of what
I had. The rest I put into an annuity, which dies with me. That will
do nothing for those I love and who love me."

To Alice, the case seemed almost hopeless. Here was a man who, owning
his past life had been self-reliant, independent, impatient as
regarded advice and control--was now weaker than a child, for, in
youth, Faith is triumphant.

"You must have a talk with Quincy, Uncle. Perhaps he can help you."
She went down stairs with a sinking heart. She loved her uncle, but
love, powerful as it is, cannot always cast out unbelief.

"Where can your husband be, Alice?" asked Mandy. "Half-past six, and
supper's ready. I remember how I used to call out 'supper's ready'
when you and he were in the parlour singing. I hope you'll sing some
to-night."

Mrs. Crowley rushed into the dining room. "He's coming, but he's got