"Humph!" exclaimed the old man, and a look of suspicion flashed across
his dusky face. "I want you to preach fer me Sunday."

It was as if he had said, "I have no faith in your style of preaching
the gospel. I am going to put you to the test."

Robert faltered. He knew his preaching would not please his father or
his people, and he shrank from the ordeal. It seemed like setting them
all at defiance and attempting to enforce his ideas over their own. Then
a perception of his cowardice struck him, and he threw off the feeling
that was possessing him. He looked up to find his father watching him
keenly, and he remembered that he had not yet answered.

"I had not thought of preaching here," he said, "but I will relieve you
if you wish it."

"De folks will want to hyeah you an' see what you kin do," pursued his
father tactlessly. "You know dey was a lot of 'em dat said I oughn't ha'
let you go away to school. I hope you'll silence 'em."

Robert thought of the opposition his father's friends had shown to his
ambitions, and his face grew hot at the memory. He felt his entire
inability to please them now.

"I don't know, father, that I can silence those who opposed my going
away or even please those who didn't, but I shall try to please One."

It was now Thursday evening, and he had until Saturday night to prepare
his sermon. He knew Danvers, and remembered what a chill fell on its
congregations, white or black, when a preacher appeared before them with
a manuscript or notes. So, out of concession to their prejudices, he
decided not to write his sermon, but to go through it carefully and get
it well in hand. His work was often interfered with by the frequent
summons to see old friends who stayed long, not talking much, but
looking at him with some awe and a good deal of contempt. His trial was
a little sorer than he had expected, but he bore it all with the
good-natured philosophy which his school life and work in a city had
taught him.

The Sunday dawned, a beautiful, Southern summer morning; the lazy hum of
the bees and the scent of wild honeysuckle were in the air; the Sabbath
was full of the quiet and peace of God; and yet the congregation which
filled the little chapel at Danvers came with restless and turbulent
hearts, and their faces said plainly: "Rob Dixon, we have not come here
to listen to God's word. We have come here to put you on trial. Do you
hear? On trial."

And the thought, "On trial," was ringin