Judge Mayne’s son, Laurence, full of a fresh and boyish enthusiasm, was such another instrument.  He had a handsome, intelligent face, a straight and beautiful body, and the pleasantest voice in the world.  His mother in her last years had been a fretful invalid, and to meet her constant demands the judge and his son had developed an angelic patience with weakness.  They were both rather quiet and undemonstrative, this father and son; the older man, in fact had a stern visage at first glance, until one learned to know it as the face of a man trained to restraint and endurance.  As for the boy, no one could long resist the shrewd, kind youngster, who could spend an hour with the most unlikely invalid and leave him all the better for it.  I was unusually busy just then, Clelie frankly hated and feared the man upstairs, my mother had her hands full, and there were many heavy and lonesome hours which Laurence set himself the task of filling.  I left this to the boy himself, offering no suggestions.

“Padre,” said the boy to me, some time later, “that chap upstairs is the hardest nut I ever tried to crack.  There’ve been times when I felt tempted to crack him with a sledge-hammer, if you want the truth.  You know, he always seemed to like me to read to him, but I’ve never been able to discover whether or not he liked what I read.  He never asked me a single question, he never seemed interested enough to make a comment.  But I think that I’ve made a dent in him at last.”

“A dent!  In Flint?  With what adamantine pick, oh hardiest of miners!”

“With a book.  Guess!”

“I couldn’t.  I give up.”

“The Bible!” said Laurence.

The Bible!  Had I chosen to read it to him, he would have resented it, been impervious, suspicious, hostile.  I looked at the boy’s laughing face, and wondered, and wondered.

“And how,” said I, curious, “did you happen to pitch on the Bible?”

“Why, I got to studying about this chap.  I wanted something that’d reach him.  I was puzzled.  And then I remembered hearing my father say that the Bible is the most interesting book in the world because it’s the most personal.  There’s something in it for everybody.  So I thought there’d be something in it for John Flint, and I tried it on him, without telling him what I was giving him.  I just plunged right in, head over heels.  Lord, Padre, it is a wonderful old book, isn’t it?  Why, I got so lost in it myself that I forgot all about John Flint, until I happened to glance up and see that he was up to the eyes in it, just like I was!  He likes the fights and he gloats over the spoils.  He’s asking for more.  I think of turning Paul loose on him.”

“Well, if after the manner of men Paul fought with wild beasts at Ephesus,” I said hopefully.  “I dare say he’ll be able to hold his own even with John Flint.”

“I like Paul best of all, myself,” said Laurence.  “You see, Padre, my father and I have needed a dose of Paul more than once—­to stiffen our backbones.  So I’m going to turn the fighting old saint loose on John Flint.  ’By, Padre;—­I’ll look in to-morrow—­I left poor old Elijah up in a cave with no water, and the ravens overdue!”