breeze,
and the boats were dropping down from their berths with their brown sails
half set. 'Ah,' he said, 'it's the other way with me, Glory. I'm coming
in, not going out. I've been beating to windward all my life, but I see
the harbour on my lee-bow at last as plainly as I ever saw Peel, and now
I'm only waiting for the top of the tide and the master of the port to
run up the flag!'

"Then his head fell gently back on my arm and his lips changed colour,
but his eyes did not close, and over his saintly face there passed a
fleeting smile. Thus died a Christian gentleman--a simple, sunny, merry,
happy, childlike creature, and of such are the kingdom of heaven.

"Glory."

* * * * *

_Parson Quayle's Letter._

"Dear John: Before this letter reaches you, or perhaps along with it, you
will receive the news that tells you what it is. I am 'in,' John; I can
say no more than that. The doctor tells me it may be now or then or at
any time. But I am looking for my enlargement soon, and whether it comes
to-morrow sunset or with to-day's next tide I leave myself in His hands
in whose hands we all are. Well has the wise man said, 'The day of our
death is better than the day of our birth, so with all good will, and
what legacy of strength old age has left to me, I send you my last word
and message.

"My poor old daughters are sorely stricken, but Glory is still brave and
true, being, as she always was, a quivering bow of steel. People tell me
that the poor mother is strong in the girl, and the spirit of the
mother's race; but well I know the father's stalwart soul supports her;
and I pray God that when my dark hour comes her loving and courageous
arms may be around me.

"That brings me to the object of my letter. This living will soon be
vacant, and I am wondering who will follow in my feeble steps. It is a
sweet spot, John! The old church does not look so ill when the sun shines
on it, and in the summer-time this old garden is full of fruit and
flowers. Did I ever tell you that Glory was born here? I never had
another grandchild, and we were great comrades from the first. She was a
wise and winsome little thing, and I was only an old child myself, so we
had many a run and romp in these grounds together. When I try to think of
the place without her it is a vain effort and a painful one; and even
while she was away in your great and wicked Babylon, with its dangers and
temptations, her little gh