m the kirk
of Dunmoor, which she had all her life attended. It was some time
before Archie was able to go so far, and Lilias had stayed at home with
him. At length, one fine, clear Sabbath in the end of September, Mrs
Blair yielded to their entreaties to be permitted to go with her; and
early in the morning they set out. Instead of going by the highway,
they took a pleasanter path over the hills, resting often, for Archie's
sake, on some grey stone or mossy bank. The length of the way was
beguiled by pleasant talk. Mrs Blair told them of the Sabbath journeys
to the kirk from Glen Elder when she and her little brother were all in
all to each other; and Lilias and Archie could never grow weary of
hearing of their father's youthful days. Many in the kirk that day
looked with interest on the children of Alexander Elder, as they sat by
his sister's side, in the very same seat where he used to sit so many
years ago; and many an earnest "God bless them!" went up to the Father
of the fatherless in their behalf. Yes, it was the very same seat in
which their father used to sit; and Lilias could hardly repress her
tears as she saw his initials, with a date many years back, carved in
the dark wood before her. The psalm-book, too, which he had used, had
never been removed; and his name, in a large schoolboy's hand, was
written many times on its blank leaves. Many of the Psalms were marked,
too, as having been learnt at such or such a time; and it was long
before Lilias could think of anything but the little lad like Archie
(only rosy and strong) who had sat there with his sister so many years
ago. The voice that spoke from the brown old pulpit was the same to
which he had listened; for the aged minister had been her grandfather's
friend, and her father had grown up beneath his eye, one of the dearest
of a well-beloved flock.

His face and voice were to Lilias like those of a dear, familiar friend;
and when he spoke of the things of which she loved to hear, she could no
longer restrain her tears: indeed, she never thought of trying.

"For my ways are not as your ways; neither are my thoughts as your
thoughts," were the words from which he spoke; and when he told them how
it was oftentimes the way of our good Father in heaven to lead His
chosen, worn and weary, fainting beneath heavy burdens, over rough
places, through darkness and gloom, but all safe home at last, the words
went to the child's heart as though they had been