Itlookedasifithadbeenbuiltofdiscardedthings，scrapsandfragmentsofotherbuildings，puttogetherwithcareandpains，bysomeonewhohadtriedtomakethemostofcast-offmaterial。
　　Therewassomethingpitifulandshamefacedaboutthehut。
　　Itshrankanddroopedandfadedinitsbarrenfield，andseemedtoclingonlybysufferancetotheedgeofthesplendidcity。
　　"This，"saidtheKeeperoftheGate，standingstillandspeakingwithalow，distinctvoice——"thisisyourmansion，JohnWeightman。"
　　Analmostintolerableshockofgrievedwonderandindignationchokedthemanforamomentsothathecouldnotsayaword。
　　Thenheturnedhisfaceawayfromthepoorlittlehutandbegantoremonstrateeagerlywithhiscompanion。
　　"Surely，sir，"hestammered，"youmustbeinerroraboutthis。
　　Thereissomethingwrong——someotherJohnWeightman——aconfusionofnames——thebookmustbemistaken。"
　　"Thereisnomistake，"saidtheKeeperoftheGate，verycalmly；
　　"hereisyourname，therecordofyourtitleandyourpossessionsinthisplace。"
　　"Buthowcouldsuchahousebepreparedforme，"criedtheman，witharesentfultremorinhisvoice——"forme，aftermylongandfaithfulservice？Isthisasuitablemansionforonesowellknownanddevoted？Whyisitsopitifullysmallandmean？
　　Whyhaveyounotbuiltitlargeandfair，liketheothers？"
　　"Thatisallthematerialyousentus。"
　　"What！"
　　"Wehaveusedallthematerialthatyousentus，"repeatedtheKeeperoftheGate。
　　"NowIknowthatyouaremistaken，"criedtheman，withgrowingearnestness，"forallmylifelongIhavebeendoingthingsthatmusthavesuppliedyouwithmaterial。HaveyounotheardthatIhavebuiltaschool-house；thewingofahospital；two——yes，three——smallchurches，andthegreaterpartofalargeone，thespireofSt。Petro——"
　　TheKeeperoftheGateliftedhishand。
　　"Wait，"hesaid；"weknowallthesethings。Theywerenotilldone。
　　ButtheywereallmarkedandusedasfoundationforthenameandmansionofJohnWeightmanintheworld。Didyounotplanthemforthat？"
　　"Yes，"answeredtheman，confusedandtakenaback，"IconfessthatIthoughtoftenoftheminthatway。Perhapsmyheartwassetuponthattoomuch。Butthereareotherthings——myendowmentforthecollege——mysteadyandliberalcontributionstoalltheestablishedcharities——mysupportofeveryrespectable——"
　　"Wait，"saidtheKeeperoftheGateagain。"Werenotallthesecarefullyrecordedonearthwheretheywouldaddtoyourcredit？
　　Theywerenotfoolishlydone。Verily，youhavehadyourrewardforthem。
　　Wouldyoubepaidtwice？"
　　"No，"criedtheman，withdeepeningdismay，"Idarenotclaimthat。
　　IacknowledgethatIconsideredmyowninteresttoomuch。Butsurelynotaltogether。Youhavesaidthatthesethingswerenotfoolishlydone。
　　Theyaccomplishedsomegoodintheworld。Doesnotthatcountforsomething？"
　　"Yes，"answeredheKeeperoftheGate，"itcountsintheworld——whereyoucountedit。Butitdoesnotbelongtoyouhere。Wehavesavedandusedeverythingthatyousentus。Thisisthemansionpreparedforyou。"
　　Ashespoke，hislookgrewdeeperandmoresearching，likeaflameoffire。
　　JohnWeightmancouldnotendureit。Itseemedtostriphimnakedandwitherhim。Hesanktothegroundunderacrushingweightofshame，coveringhiseyeswithhishandsandcoweringfacedownwarduponthestones。Dimlythroughthetroubleofhismindhefelttheirhardnessandcoldness。
　　"Tellme，then，"hecried，brokenly，"sincemylifehasbeensolittleworth，howcameIhereatall？"
　　"ThroughthemercyoftheKing"——theanswerwaslikethesofttollingofabell。
　　"AndhowhaveIearnedit？"hemurmured。
　　"Itisneverearned；itisonlygiven，"cametheclear，lowreply。
　　"ButhowhaveIfailedsowretchedly，"heasked，"inallthepurposeofmylife？WhatcouldIhavedonebetter？Whatisitthatcountshere？"
　　"Onlythatwhichistrulygiven，"answeredthebell-likevoice。
　　Onlythatgoodwhichisdonefortheloveofdoingit。
　　Onlythoseplansinwhichthewelfareofothersisthemasterthought。
　　Onlythoselaborsinwhichthesacrificeisgreaterthanthereward。
　　Onlythosegiftsinwhichthegiverforgetshimself。"
　　Themanlaysilent。Agreatweakness，anunspeakabledespondencyandhumiliationwereuponhim。ButthefaceoftheKeeperoftheGatewasinfinitelytenderashebentoverhim。
　　"Thinkagain，JohnWeightman。Hastherebeennothinglikethatinyourlife？"
　　"Nothing，"hesighed。"Ifthereeverweresuchthings，itmusthavebeenlongago——theywereallcrowdedout——Ihaveforgottenthem。"
　　TherewasanineffablesmileonthefaceoftheKeeperoftheGate，andhishandmadethesignofthecrossoverthebowedheadashespokegently:
　　"ThesearethethingsthattheKingneverforgets；andbecausetherewereafewoftheminyourlife，youhavealittleplacehere。"
　　ThesenseofcoldnessandhardnessunderJohnWeightman'shandsgrewsharperandmoredistinct。Thefeelingofbodilywearinessandlassitudeweigheduponhim，buttherewasacalm，almostalightness，inhisheartashelistenedtothefadingvibrationsofthesilverybell-tones。Thechimneyclockonthemantelhadjustendedthelaststrokeofsevenasheliftedhisheadfromthetable。
　　Thin，palestripsofthecitymorningwerefallingintotheroomthroughthenarrowpartingsoftheheavycurtains。
　　Whatwasitthathadhappenedtohim？Hadhebeenill？Hadhediedandcometolifeagain？Orhadheonlyslept，andhadhissoulgonevisitingindreams？Hesatforsometime，motionless，notlost，butfindinghimselfinthought。Thenhetookanarrowbookfromthetabledrawer，wroteacheck，andtoreitout。
　　Hewentslowlyupthestairs，knockedverysoftlyathisson'sdoor，and，hearingnoanswer，enteredwithoutnoise。Haroldwasasleep，hisbarearmthrownabovehishead，andhiseagerfacerelaxedinpeace。
　　Hisfatherlookedathimamomentwithstrangelyshiningeyes，andthentiptoedquietlytothewriting-desk，foundapencilandasheetofpaper，andwroterapidly:
　　"Mydearboy，hereiswhatyouaskedmefor；dowhatyoulikewithit，andaskformoreifyouneedit。IfyouarestillthinkingofthatworkwithGrenfell，we'lltalkitoverto-dayafterchurch。
　　Iwanttoknowyourheartbetter；andifIhavemademistakes——"
　　Aslightnoisemadehimturnhishead。Haroldwassittingupinbedwithwide-openeyes。
　　"Father！"hecried，"isthatyou？"
　　"Yes，myson，"answeredJohnWeightman；"I'vecomeback——ImeanI'vecomeup——no，Imeancomein——well，hereIam，andGodgiveusagoodChristmastogether。"