sat down.

They hurried away as quickly as they could, but not before they had to
repeat over and over again to the many who crowded round them to
inquire, that their father was not ill, at least not worse than he had
been, only he had taken cold and was hoarse and not able to speak--that
was all.

But the thought that perhaps it might not be all, lay heavy on their
hearts all the way home, and made their drive a silent one. It never
came into Jem's mind to banter Davie about the new dignity of his office
as reader, as at first he had intended to do, or, indeed, to say
anything at all, till they were nearly home. As for David, he was going
over and over the very same things that had filled his mind when he
drove his father from old Tim's funeral--"A good soldier of Jesus
Christ," and all that was implied in the name, and his father's words
about "the enrolling of one's name;" and he said to himself that he
would give a great deal to be sure that his name was enrolled,
forgetting that the whole world could not be enough to buy what God had
promised to him freely--a name and a place among His people.

"I hope we shall find papa better," said Jem, as old Don took his usual
energetic start on the hill near the bridge.

"Oh! he is sure to be better," said David. But he did not feel at all
sure of it, and he could not force himself to do anything for old Don's
comfort till he should see what was going on in the house. The glimpse
he got when he went in was re-assuring. Violet was laying the table for
tea, and singing softly to herself as she went through the house. His
father and mother were in the sitting-room with the rest of the
children, and they were both smiling at one of little Polly's wise
speeches as he went in.

"Well, Davie, you are home again safely," said his mother.

"All right, mamma. I will tell you all about it in a minute," said
David. "All right," he repeated, as he went out again to Jem, lifting a
load from his heart, and from his own, too, with the word.

But was it really "all right?" Their father's face said it plainly,
they thought, when they went in, and their mother's face said it, too,
with a difference. A weight was lifted from Jem's heart, and his
spirits rose to such a happy pitch that, Sunday as it was, and in his
father's presence, he could hardly keep himself within quiet bounds, as
he told them about the afternoon, and how David had read so well, and
what all the people had