ne he stood. Most of the people whom he knew would see only
blind obstinacy in his refusal to be a minister. But were one's
inclinations nothing? Was there really nothing in the "call" to preach?
So he pondered as he walked, and more and more the hopelessness of his
predicament became revealed to him. All his life had been moulded by
this one woman's hands. Would not revolt now say to the world, "I am
grown now; I do not need this woman who has toiled. I can disobey her
with impunity; I will do so."

He went home, and before going in leaned his head long upon the gate and
thought. A listless calm had succeeded his storm of passion. He went in
and to bed.

At breakfast he seemed almost cheerful, while Mr. Hodges was subdued.
His wife had taken refuge in an attitude of injured silence.

"Aunt Hester," said the young man, apparently without effort, "I was
wrong yesterday; I am sorry. I will do whatever you say, even to being a
preacher." Something came up in his throat and choked him as he saw a
brightness come into the face and eyes of his beloved "Uncle 'Liph," but
it grew hard and bitter there as Mrs. Hodges replied, "Well, I 'm glad
the Lord has showed you the errors of your way an' brought you around to
a sense o' your dooty to Him an' to me."

Poor, blind, conceited humanity! Interpreters of God, indeed! We reduce
the Deity to vulgar fractions. We place our own little ambitions and
inclinations before a shrine, and label them "divine messages." We set
up our Delphian tripod, and we are the priest and oracles. We despise
the plans of Nature's Ruler and substitute our own. With our short sight
we affect to take a comprehensive view of eternity. Our horizon is the
universe. We spy on the Divine and try to surprise His secrets, or to
sneak into His confidence by stealth. We make God the eternal a puppet.
We measure infinity with a foot-rule.

CHAPTER X

When Fate is fighting with all her might against a human soul, the
greatest victory that the soul can win is to reconcile itself to the
unpleasant, which is never quite so unpleasant afterwards. Upon this
principle Frederick Brent acted instinctively. What with work and study
and contact with his fellow-students, he found the seminary not so bad a
place, after all. Indeed, he began to take a sort of pleasure in his
pursuits. The spirit of healthy competition in the school whetted his
mind and made him forgetful of many annoyances from without. When some
fel