grand thing to be a soldier of the Lord."

"Yes, Aunt Mary," said Frank, gravely. Then they were all silent for a
long time. Indeed, there was not a word spoken till Mr Inglis' voice
was heard at the door. Jem ran out to hold old Don till David brought
the lantern, and both boys spent a good while in making the horse
comfortable after his long pull over the hills. Mrs Inglis went to the
other room to attend to her husband, and Violet followed her, and Frank
was left alone to think over the words that he had heard. He did think
of them seriously, then and afterwards.--He never quite forgot them,
though he did not act upon them and offer himself for a "good soldier of
Jesus Christ" for a long time after that.

In a little while Mr Inglis came in and sat down beside him, but after
the first minute or two he was quite silent, busy with his own thoughts
it seemed, and Frank said nothing either, but wondered what his uncle's
thoughts might be. The discomfort of cold and wind and of the long
drive through sleet and rain, had nothing to do with them, the boy said
to himself, as, with his hand screening his weak eyes from the light and
heat of the fire, he watched his changing face. It was a very good face
to watch. It was thin and pale, and the hair had worn away a little
from the temples, making the prominent forehead almost too high and
broad for the cheeks beneath. Its expression was usually grave and
thoughtful, but to-night there was a brightness on it which fixed the
boy's gaze; and the eyes, too often sunken and heavy after a day of
labour, shone to-night with a light at once so peaceful and so
triumphant, that Frank could not but wonder. In a little while Violet
came in, and she saw it too.

"Has anything happened, papa?" asked she, softly.

He turned his eyes to her, but did not speak. He had heard her voice
but not her question, and she did not repeat it, but came and sat down
on a low stool at his feet.

"Are you very tired, papa?" she asked at last.

"Not more so than usual. Indeed, I have hardly thought of it to-night,
or of the cold and the sleet and the long drive, that have moved my
little girl's compassion. But it is pleasant to be safe home again, and
to find all well."

"But what kept you so long, papa?" said Jem, coming in with the lantern
in his hand. "Was it Don's fault? Didn't he do his duty, poor old
Don?"

"No. I was sent for to see Timothy Bent. That was what detained me so