now and then
a quiver in her voice, and tears on her cheeks, the mother told her son
how it had been with her since they parted. The coming back to the old
home and to her husband's grave had not been altogether sorrowful.
Indeed, after the very first, it had been more joyful than sorrowful.
"The memory of the just is blessed."

"They rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." How
clear this had been made to her during these days! The results of her
husband's teaching and influence and example were visible now, as they
had not been in former days. That which then had been as the hidden
seed, or the shooting germ, had in some lives sprung up to blossom, or
bear fruit an hundred fold. She told David of one and another who had
spoken to her of his father, blessing his memory, because of what he had
done for them and theirs, in the service of his Master, and then she
said--

"It is the only true and worthy life, Davie--a life of work for the
Master. Is it to be yours, my boy?"

"Yes, mamma. In one way or another, it is to be mine. Whether it is to
be as papa's was, I cannot tell."

"That may come, dear. It is so blessed to feel that our times are in
His hands. It would be great happiness to know that my son might give
himself to the work of preaching the Gospel as his father did. But that
must be as God wills. You may be his soldier and servant, whatever may
be your calling; but we gave you to His work as soon as He gave you to
us, and I pray God you may yet stand in your father's place."

"A soldier of Christ--to gird on the armour that my father has laid
down," said David, softly. "I _do_ wish it, mamma, if only it might be.
But it must be a long time first."

"Who knows? And it does not matter whether the time may be long or
sort, if it is God's time. And all your life till it comes may be made
a preparation."

It was not often that Mrs Inglis spoke on this subject to her son. She
had not done so more than once or twice since his father died. But it
was, as she told him, the cherished wish of her heart, and the burden of
her prayers for him that he should live and die in the work that had
been his father's. The fulfillment of her hope did not seem very near,
or possible, but David was young and she could wait, and, in the
meantime, it was her pleasure and her duty to encourage him.

Afterwards, when David looked back on this time, it was of his mother
and these quiet talks with