r caught the smile on the face of
Glenoro's future pastor and sighed to think how greatly his friend was
being deceived.

The last straggler had slipped into the back seat, the church was
filled, and every eye was turned expectantly towards the vestry door.
It opened presently and the aged minister came forth. As he went up
the steep pulpit stair, Duncan Polite's loving eye caught signs of
added weakness in his gait, the motions of one too weary for further
effort, and his heart was smitten with fear. He could never
contemplate the removal of his pastor without the apprehension of
coming disaster. There was a new class of people growing up in the
church, whose broad views threatened to overturn the simple, pious ways
of their fathers. As long as Mr. Cameron was over them Duncan felt
assured they would never go far astray, but he often looked into the
future with some misgivings.

The minister's text was characteristic, one that Duncan remembered all
his life afterwards, as his greatest stay and comfort in times of
distress: "And the Lord shall guide thee continually and satisfy thy
soul in drought."

The sermon was not shortened because of the minister's apparent
weakness; a Glenoro sermon was never less than an hour in length and
very often reached the two-hour limit. There were two morning sermons,
one in Gaelic immediately following the English service for the benefit
of the Highlanders who flocked down from the Oa, the Highland
settlement north of Glenoro. Many of the Gentiles, who did not know
the chosen language, went home after the first service, and their
places were taken by the new contingent.

Andrew Johnstone always remained for the Gaelic service. He understood
very little of the language, but he felt the presence of the elders was
necessary, and then he could walk home with Duncan and discuss the
sermon, a pleasure for which it was worth waiting.

The breaking up of the Glenoro congregation followed an established
order of procedure and varied not one Sabbath from another. Any
departure from the order of their going would have been considered as
irregular as though the minister were to pronounce the benediction
before the sermon. First, the young men of the back row flung
themselves through the door, noiselessly but hastily, inhaling great
breaths of relief. Next came those who had to get their horses from
the shed, and close upon them the village folk, passing with fine
superiority their