"Well, you can read—can't you?—or talk to me."
There was a strange uneasy wandering of his eye, and a corresponding unwonted simplicity and directness in his talk. Faith noted both and silently went for a Bible she saw lying on a table. She brought it to Mr. Simlins' side and opened its pages slowly, questioning with herself where she should read. Some association of a long past conversation perhaps was present with her, for though she paused over one and another of several passages, she could fix upon none but the parable of the unfruitful tree.
"Do you mean that for me?" said the farmer a minute after she had done.
"Yes sir—and no, dear Mr. Simlins!" said Faith looking up.
"Why is it 'yes' and 'no'? how be I like that?"—he growled, but with a certain softening and lowering of his growl.
"The good trees all do the work they were made for. God calls for the same from us," Faith said gently.
"I know what you're thinkin' of," said he;—"but haint I done it? Who ever heerd a man say I had wronged him? or that I have been hard-hearted either? I never was."
It was curious how he let his thoughts out to her; but the very gentle, pure and true face beside him provoked neither controversy nor mistrust, nor pride. He spoke to her as if she had only been a child. Like a child, with such sympathy and simplicity, she answered him.
"Mr. Simlins, the Bible says that 'the fruits of righteousness are by
Jesus Christ.'—Do you know him?—are you in his service?"
"I don't know as I understand you," said he.