Think about God--you are going to Him, you know.

Trust Him, will you?
'The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, saveth us from all sin.'" The dying man, moved his hand convulsively.

"Don't you worry, padre," he said faintly; "I've been--confirmed." The lips tightened a second with pain, and then: "Reckon I won't--shirk.

Have you--got--a cigarette ?" Peter felt quickly for his case, fumbled and dropped one, then got another into his fingers.

He hesitated a second, and then, put it to his own lips, struck a match, and puffed at it.