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 “We get nowhere,” said the Bee Master, sternly. “We get nowhere. They see through us or discover our deception later every time.”

Jamie arose and went over to the side of the bed and took the Bee Master’s hand, and suddenly he bent down and laid his lips on his forehead and before he realized what he was doing, he found that he was on his knees beside the bed. He heard his voice saying: “When I was a youngster, my father and mother taught me to pray. In the intervening years I got so sure of my own sufficiency and efficiency that I grabbed the bait and ran, but lately, when I got to the place where I could truthfully say, in the language of the old hymn, ‘Other refuge have I none,’ I’ve been on my knees creeping back toward the foot of the throne. I am asking, if it’s consistent with the divine plan, that I may be given back my strength and my youth, that I may be of some help in making my country a good place wherein to live, to work, and to love. I am going home, and I am going to kneel beside your bed, and I am going to ask God, if it is the best thing for you, to let you come home, to let you have more of life, more time to enjoy the beauty that you have created; and if that is not His plan, then I am going to ask Him to give you the surcease that the little Scout Master says was vouchsafed to little old Aunt Beth.”

The Bee Master smiled.

“I heard that story,” he said. “I was told about it when it happened. It was a very wonderful thing that those two children could have gotten such a lovely con-