ves containing the favorite volumes of Dissent
belonging to John's great-grandfather, Burnet, Taylor, Doddridge,
Wesley, Milton, Watts, quaint biographies, and books of travel. From
them she took a well-used copy of Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," and
opening it as one familiar with every page, said,

"Listen, John, learn what Love can do.

"Love solves where learning perplexes. Love attracts the best in
every one, for it gives the best, Love redeemeth, Love lifts up,
Love enlightens, Love hath everlasting remembrance, Love advances
the Soul, Love is a ransom, and the tears thereof are a prayer.
Love is life. So much Love, so much Life. Oh, little Soul, if rich
in Love, thou art mighty."

"My dear mother, thank you. You are best of all mothers. God bless you."

"Your father, John, was a man of few words, as you know. He copied that
passage out of this very book, and he wrote after it, 'Martha Booth, I
love you. If you can love me, I will be at the chapel door after
tonight's service, then put your hand in mine, and I will hope to give
you hand and heart and home as long as I live.' And for years he kept
his word, John--he did that!"

"Father always kept his word. If he but once said a thing, no power on
earth could make him unsay it. He was a handsome, well-built man."

"Well, then, what are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking that Lord Thirsk is, by the majority of women,
considered handsome."

"What kind of women have that idea?"

"Why, mother, I don't exactly know. If I go into my tailor's, I am told
about his elegant figure, if into my shoemaker's, I hear of his small
feet, if to Baylor's glove counter, some girl fitting my number seven
will smilingly inform me that Lord Thirsk wears number four. And if you
see him walking or driving, he always has some pretty woman at his
side."

"What by all that? His feet are fit for nothing but dancing. He could
not take thy long swinging steps for a twenty-mile walk; he couldn't
take them for a dozen yards. His hands may be small enough, and white
enough, and ringed enough for a lady, but he can't make a penny's worth
with them. I've heard it said that if he goes to stay all night with a
friend he has to take his valet with him--can't dress himself, I
suppose."

"He is always dressed with the utmost nicety and in the tip-top of the
fashion."

"I'll warrant him. Jane told me he wore a lace cravat at the Priestly
ball, and I have no