folk's
temptations, or how small a spark of grace in the heart will save a man.
We have all reason to be thankful that it's the Lord and no' man that
is to be our judge. Maybe I have been over hard on those men."

Here was a wonder! Mrs Nasmyth confessing herself to have been hard
upon the deacons. Sampson did not speak his thoughts, however. He was
more moved by his friend's earnestness than he cared to show.

"Well, I expect there's something in it, whether I ever see it with my
own eyes or not," said he, as he rose to go.

"Ay, is there," said Mrs Nasmyth, heartily; "and there's no fear but
you'll see it, when you ask in a right spirit that your eyes may be
opened."

"Mis' Nasmyth," said Sampson, quietly and solemnly, "I may be deceiving
myself in this matter. I seem to get kind o' bewildered at times over
these things. But I do think I am in earnest. Surely I'll get help
some time?"

"Ay--that you will, as God is true. But oh man! go straight to _Him_.
It's between you and Him, this matter. But winna you bide still? I
daresay the minister will soon be at leisure now."

"I guess not. I hadn't much particular to say to him. I can just as
well come again." And without turning his face toward her, he went
away.

Janet looked after him till the turn of the road hid him, saying to
herself,--

"If the Lord would but take him in hand, just to show what He could make
of him. Something to His praise, I hae no doubt--Yankee though he be.
God forgive me for saying it. I daresay I hae nae all the charity I
might hae for them, the upsettin' bodies."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Even in quiet country places, there are changes many and varied wrought
by the coming and going of seven years, and Merleville has had its share
of these since the time the minister's children looked upon the pleasant
place with the wondering eyes of strangers. Standing on the
church-steps, one looks down on the same still hamlet, and over the same
hills and valleys and nestling farm-houses. But the woods have receded
in some places, and up from the right comes the sound of clashing
machinery, telling that the Merle river is performing its mission at
last, setting in motion saws and hammers and spindles, but in so
unpretending a manner that no miniature city has sprung up on its banks
as yet; and long may that day be distant.

The trees in the grave-yard cast a deeper shadow, and the white
grave-stones seem to stand a little clos