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What marvel that the poor man felt his faith
Too weak to bear its burden,-like a rope
That, strand by strand uncoiling, breaks above
The hand that grasps it. Even now, O Lord !
“Send me,” he prayed, “ the angel of my dream!
Nauhaught is very poor; he cannot wait.”


Even as he spake, he heard at his bare feet
A low, metallic,clink, and, looking down,
He saw a dainty purse with disks of gold
Crowding its silken net. Awhile he held
The treasure up before his eyes, alone
With his great need, feeling the wondrous coins
Slide through his eager fingers, one by one.
So then the dream was true.


The angel brought
One broad piece only; should he take all these?
Who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb woods ?
The loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss
This dropped crumb from a table always full.
Still, while he mused, he seemed to hear the cry
Of a starved child; the sick face of his wife
Tempted him. Heart and flesh in fierce revolt
Urged the wild license of his savage youth
Against his later scruples.


All the while The low rebuking of the distant waves Stole in upon him like the voice of God Among the trees of Eden. Girding up His soul's loins with a resolute hand, he thrust The base thought from him: “Nauhaught, be a man! Starve, if need be; but, while you live, look out From honest eyes on all men, unashamed.


“God help me! I am deacon of the church,
A baptized, praying Indian! Should I do
This secret meanness, even the barken knots
Of the old trees would turn to eyes to see it,

The birds would tell of it, and all the leaves
Whisper above me: Nauhaught is a thief!'
The sun would know it, and the stars that hide
Behind his light would watch me, and at night
Follow me with their sharp, accusing eyes.
Yea, thou, God, seest me!”


Then Nauhaught drew
Closer his belt of leather, dulling thus
The pain of hunger, and walked bravely back
To the brown fishing-hamlet by the sea ;
And, pausing at the inn door, cheerily asked:
“Who hath lost aught to-day?"

“T,” said a voice; “Ten golden pieces, in a silken purse, My daughter's handiwork.” He looked, and lo! One stood before him in a coat of frieze, And the glazed hat of a seafaring man, Shrewd-faced, broad-shouldered, with no trace of wings.


Marveling, he dropped within the straliger's hand
The silken web, and turned to go his way.
But the man said: “A tithe at least is yours;
Take it, in God's name, as an honest man."
And as the deacon's dusky fingers closed
Over the golden gift, “ Yea, in God's name
I take it, with a poor man's thanks,” he said.


So down the street that, like a river of sand,
Ran, white in sunshine, to the summer sea,
He sought his home, singing and praising God;
And when his neighbors in their careless way
Spoke of the owner of the silken purse-
A Wellfeet skipper, known in every port
That the Cape opens in its sandy wall-
He answered, with a wise smile, to himself:
“I saw the angel where they see the man.”


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TROM the workshop of the Golden Key there issued

forth a tinkling sound, so merry and good-humored, that it suggested the idea of some one working blithely, and made quite pleasant music. Tink, tink, tink-cleai as a silver bell, and audible at every pause of the streets' harsher noises, as though it said, “I don't care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to be happy.”

2. Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers; still it struck in again, no higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people's notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder soundstink, tink, tink, tink, tink.

3. It was a perfect embodiment of the still small voice, free from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind. Foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger near it; neighbors who had got up splen'etic that morning, felt good-humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite sprightly; mothers danced their babies to its ringing ;-still the same magical tink, tink, tink, came gayly from the workshop of the Golden Key.

4. Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light, fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood working at his anvil, his face radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead—the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the world.

5. Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort. The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, and seemed like

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There he stood working at his anvil, his face radiant with exercise and gladness his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead-the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the world.



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