A coal toppled with a sputter and flare in the fireplace. "Yes, Hiram," in a thoughtful voice, "I suppose I do." "I'm glad to hear you say that," cried Biggs in very evident relief. "Ah, if you could but tell me," continued the banker, "from whence we
come, and whither we go?" "If I knew, sir, I'd be equal with the Creator," answered Biggs with
reverence. "That's well said, Hiram, but it doesn't satisfy me. I've made my place
in the world by getting to the root of things. Ah, if I could only get a
peek behind the curtain, before I go--back-stage, you know--mayhap I
would not be afraid to die," and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "The Great Director does not permit the audience behind the footlights,
unless he calls them," answered Biggs whimsically, the ghost of a smile
lighting up his troubled features. "Another thing, Biggs, do you believe those stories about Jonah, and
Lazarus, and the fellow they let down through a hole in the roof to be
healed?" "I do, sir," with conviction. "Do you understand how it was done?" testily. "Of course not, sir, being only a human." "Then tell me, Hiram, when you cannot see through it, how can you
swallow all this theology?" "My faith, sir," answered Biggs, simply, raising his eyes with
reverence. At this, a quizzical smile came over the sick man's face. "In looking up, Hiram, don't forget, since it is twelve-thirty, that we
have swung around four hundred and eighty miles from the spot you
originally designated as the location of the Pearly Gates." "Oh, sir, I beg of you," remonstrated the servant, "I cannot bear to
have you jest on such a--why, master!" he broke off with a little cry,
rushing to his bedside. The quizzical smile on the banker's face had suddenly faded, and his
head had fallen feebly back upon the pillow. "Oh, why did he waste his strength so?" cried Biggs, piteously, as with
trembling hands and tear-blurred eyes he searched the little table for
the smelling-salts. After a few breaths, the patient sighed and opened his eyes wearily. "My medicine, Hiram, and then I must rest." *       *       *       *       *

At midnight, Biggs, dozing in a big chair by the fire, was aroused by a
voice from the sick bed. "Hiram." "Yes, sir," scurrying to turn on a subdued light. "Where is heaven now?" Noting the wan flicker of a smile, the old servant pointed solemnly
downward. "You are a bright pupil," came in a scarcely audible voice. "Thank you, sir." "Do you know, Biggs, I wish I had led a different--a better life." "You have been a good master, sir. You have been kind, you have given
liberally to charity," Biggs defended him. "Yes," cynically, "I have given liberally to charity. But it has been no
sacrifice." "You have been a pillar in the church," ventured Biggs. "Yes," bitterly, "a stone pillar. I have paid handsomely for my pew, and
slept peacefully through the sermons. I have bought baskets of food for
the poor at Thanksgiving and Christmas time, only to let others reap the
happiness of giving them away. I could have had so much joy out of
Christmas, if I would. I could have been a jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa
Claus and gone to a hundred homes, my arms loaded with gifts." "True, sir, but you made that joy possible for others." "When I should have known the thrill of it myself. I have not really
lived, Hiram. To draw the sweets truly out of life, one must humble
himself and serve his fellow men. Yes, the scales have fallen from my
eyes, Hiram. But it is too late, 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is
weak'." "It doesn't seem right, sir," said Biggs after a pause. "What's that, Hiram?" "Why, sir, that you should be stricken down in the prime of life, just
at a time when you could mean so much to others, while I, old and
useless, am permitted to live on. But I am not finding fault with
Providence, sir," Biggs hastened to say; "I just can't find the meaning
of the riddle, sir." "Probably I've had my chance and fumbled it, Biggs." "Even so, sir, God is not vindictive, according to my ideas. There
surely is some other solution. I'm still going to pray that He will take
me in your stead, even if a miracle must be performed." "So you have faith in your prayers, do you, Biggs?" "Yes, sir, if they are unselfish prayers." "That brand is rather scarce, I take it," answered McMasters, but his
tone was reflective rather than sarcastic. "Oh, sir, I wish you would pray as I do. God would surely understand." "Rather a queer request, Hiram. If my life depends upon your death no
prayer shall ever pass my lips." "But, sir, I'm an old----"

"However," interrupted McMasters, "I shall pray that if my life is
spared in any other fashion, I will make full amends for my years of
indifference and neglect. And, Hiram, no one knows how much I truly seek
this divine dispensation. But I have always scoffed at death-bed
confessions, and so my heart grows cold, for I have no right to
ask--now." Again, wearily, "No right--now." "Ah, master, God is plenteous in mercy. If you but have the faith, sir,
it shall make you whole." "Very good, had I lived as you have lived, Biggs." Then, after a pause,
"Still, the cause is worthy, my heart is right and I shall approach the
Throne. May God be merciful unto me, a sinner." "I hope it is not too late yet," faltered Biggs. "Oh, if God would only
call me in your stead, that you might still do the good work that you
find it in your heart to do, how gladly would I go." A deep sigh was his only answer. *       *       *       *       *

A long silence was finally broken by the sick man. But when he spoke,
his voice was so strange and uncanny that the servant hastened close and
peered anxiously into the fever-flushed face of the sufferer. "Hiram--I must tell you--a secret," came in a laborious, almost
sepulchral, whisper. Biggs came closer. "Bring a chair and sit down. I must talk to you." As the old servant again leaned forward, the sufferer hesitated; then
with an obvious effort he began. "Hiram, I am going to give you some instructions which you must obey to
the letter. Will you promise to keep them?" "I swear it, sir," with great earnestness. "Good! Now, if this fever seals my lips and the doctor pronounces me
dead----"

"Please, sir," Biggs broke in, tears streaming down his furrowed cheeks,
but his master continued in the same subdued voice, "Whatever happens, I
am not to be embalmed--do you hear me?--not embalmed, but just laid away
as I am now." "Yes, sir," in a choked voice, which fully betrayed the breaking heart
behind it. "And now, Hiram, the rest of the secret." He paused and beckoned Biggs
to lean closer. "In my vault--in the mausoleum, I have had an electric button installed. That button connects with a silver bell. Lift up that small picture of
Napoleon, there upon the wall." His hands trembling as with the palsy, Biggs reached out and lifted
aside the picture hanging near the head of the bed, and there revealed
the silver bell, fitted into a small aperture in the wall.