ight was over he merely said: "I ain't never been
at all certain in my mind that I could love a woman, so more'n likely
I've all along been mistaken 'bout Em'ly. Seems like there ain't but one
mortal thing on this earth I am sure on and that's--Ambrose!"

And yet the little man recalled nothing of the story of David and
Jonathan, and, even if he had, could never have appreciated how their
story touched his.

Nevertheless, it was one thing to decide to make a sacrifice of himself
and his love to his friend, and quite a different thing to persuade that
friend to accept it. For some time poor Miner puzzled; Ambrose would not
even go out to the log cabin during the period of Emily's convalescence,
though getting daily reports of her condition through him and through
Doctor Webb. Susan Barrows, for some unexplainable reason, absolutely
declined to speak to her next door neighbour when, after the period of
her nursing was over, she had once more returned home.

There were harassed hours when unwittingly Miner came near to laying the
case before Ambrose, being so accustomed, in all other matters
requiring imagination, to relying on that of his friend. It is all very
well to think that he might just have plainly stated his own change of
mind and heart, but measuring the extent of the renunciation by what it
would have meant to him, so surely Ambrose would never have accepted his
sacrifice.

No, some more ingenious method must be devised, and Hamlet did not
devote more agony to discovering a plan for avenging his father's death
than Miner to finding a way of new life for Ambrose.

One afternoon the little man was limping slowly along the dusty August
turnpike leading out from Pennyroyal with Moses, who, feeling his need,
had accompanied him, yet, now too stiff to walk far, was being carried
in his arms, when the attention of both the man and dog were arrested by
the spectacle of an old darky trying to drive a mule, hitched to a
wagonload of green-corn, into Pennyroyal, the mule having at this point
positively declined to go farther.

It was inspiration in a strange guise, and yet inspiration must
necessarily come to us in the character of the events that make up our
lives.

The darky coaxed and threatened and beat his willow switch bare of
leaves; the mule, spreading her legs to the four corners of the globe,
remained firm. By and by the negro got down from his seat and with
Miner's aid gathered a small pile of chips, wh