as brothers. To do that, they must first realize that they are sons."
"Then you make the poor beggars go to church, whether they like it or no?"
"Not in the least. There is no compulsion in the matter. As a fact, nearly all do attend the Sunday service; some the one before breakfast, some the short daily prayer at seven; but of course not many do that."
"And who's your parson?"
"Yonder he is, the Rev. Frank Brown—hoeing up his potatoes. That little boy helping is the youngster I ran over last year."
"Is that broad-shouldered fellow in mole-skin trousers with his coat off and that huge hat on, the parson? Not a very conventional one."
"No, but a really fine fellow. He'll box with you, ride with you, or farm; but he is devoted to these people and their work. You must meet him another time. Now we must be getting back if you are to have your ride with the ladies. That building in course of erection is to be our hall and theatre. Adjoining it you see the stores, which we keep well supplied, though no money passes over the counter. It's only open two hours a day; we spend the maximum of time producing, the minimum in doling out. Next you see the butchery, bakery, blacksmiths' and wheelwrights' shops. Pretty busy, are they not?"
"By St. Patrick they are. I confess you have done wonders. Now tell me how you accomplish it?"
"Simply by believing in these people, as you draw devotion from your very horses and dogs. Sympathy is the talisman that opens the barred treasure-house of the heart, and helps a man to rise to the best that is in him."
