"Dear, dear!" cried Tony, his eyes glistening. "Whatever did the Master
do when they all died? I'm very sorry for him now. He's had a many
troubles, hasn't he?"

"Yes, yes," replied old Oliver, with a faltering voice. "He was called a
man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Nobody ever bore so many
troubles as him."

"How long is it ago since they all died?" asked Tony.

"I can't rightly say," he answered. "I heard once, but it is gone out of
my head. I only know it was the same when I was a boy. It must have been
a long, long time ago."

"The same when you was a boy!" repeated Tony, in a tone of
disappointment. "It must ha' been a long while ago. I thought all along
as the Master was alive now."

"So he is, so he is!" exclaimed old Oliver, eagerly. "I'll read to you
all about it. They put him to death on the cross, and buried him in a
rocky grave; but he is the Prince of Life, and he came to life again
three days after, and now he can die no more. His own words to John
were, 'I am he that liveth, and was dead; and behold, I am alive
forevermore.' What else can it mean but that he is living now, and will
never die again?"

Tony made no answer. He sat with his sharp, unboyish face gazing intently
into the fire; for by this time autumn had set in, and the old man was
chilly of an evening. A very uncertain, dim idea was dawning upon him