The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 103, May, 1866
There was no doubting the fire of rapt enthusiasm in his eye, rising and looking out across the moonlit fields as if already he saw the pleasant hills of Beulah.
"Thank God for George Rapp! he has found a home where a man can stand alone,"--stretching out his arms as if he would have torn out whatever vestige of human love tugged at his sick old heart, his eye hunting out Tony as he spoke.
The boy, startled from his sleep, muttered, and groped as a baby will for its mother's breast or hand. No hand met the poor little fingers, and they fell on the pillow empty, the child going to sleep again with a forlorn little cry. Knowles watched him, the thick lips under his moustache growing white.
"I purpose," he said, "that next week you and I shall go to these people, and, if possible, become members of their community,--cut loose from all these narrow notions of home and family, and learn to stand upr