stant compression. No trace of sensuality. How
came this man, grey with age, to marry a girl whose appeal to the senses
was already so obvious? The eyes and prominent temples of the idealist
supplied the answer. Deacon Hooper was a New Englander, trained in the
bitterest competition for wealth, and yet the Yankee in him masked a
fund of simple, kindly optimism, which showed itself chiefly in his
devoted affection for his wife. He had not thought of his age when he
married, but of her and her poverty. And possibly he was justified. The
snow-garment of winter protects the tender spring wheat.

"It's late," Mr. Letgood began slowly, "I must be going home now. I
thought you might like to hear the news, as you are my senior Deacon.
Your advice seems excellent; I shall weigh the 'call' carefully;
but"--with a glance at Mrs. Hooper--"I am disposed to refuse it." No
answering look came to him. He went on firmly and with emphasis, "_I
wish_ to refuse it.--Good day, Mrs. Hooper, _till next Sunday_. Good
day, Deacon."

"Good day, Mr. Letgood," she spoke with a little air of precise
courtesy.

"Good day, sir," replied the Deacon, cordially shaking the proffered
hand, while he accompanied his pastor to the street door.

The sun was sinking, and some of the glory of the sunset colouring
seemed to be reflected in Deacon Hooper's face, as he returned to the
drawing-room and said with profound conviction:--

"Isabelle, that man's jest about as good as they make them. He's what I
call a real Christian--one that thinks of duty first and himself last.
Ef that ain't a Christian, I'd like to know what is."

"Yes," she rejoined meditatively, as she busied herself arranging the
chairs and tidying the sofa into its usual stiff primness; "I guess he's
a good man." And her cheek flushed softly.

"Wall," he went on warmly, "I reckon we ought to do somethin' in this.
There ain't no question but he fills the church. Ef we raised the
pew-rents we could offer him an increase of salary to stay--I guess that
could be done."

"Oh! don't do anything," exclaimed the wife, as if awaking to the
significance of this proposal, "anyway not until he has decided. It
would look--mean, don't you think? to offer him somethin' more to stay."

"I don't know but you're right, Isabelle; I don't know but you're
right," repeated her husband thoughtfully. "It'll look better if he
decides before hearin' from us. There ain't no harm, though, in thinkin'
the thing