rly all in want of something different. The air between the hills
clung to them, hot and moveless. We would climb those hills, and breathe
the air that flitted about over their craggy tops.

As soon as we had breakfasted, we set out. It was soon evident that
Andrew could not ascend the steep road. We returned and got a carriage.
When we reached the top, it was like a resurrection, like a dawning
of hope out of despair. The cool friendly wind blew on our faces, and
breathed strength into our frames. Before us lay the ocean, the visible
type of the invisible, and the vessels with their white sails moved
about over it like the thoughts of men feebly searching the unknown.
Even Andrew Falconer spread out his arms to the wind, and breathed deep,
filling his great chest full.

'I feel like a boy again,' he said.

His son strode to his side, and laid his arm over his shoulders.

'So do I, father,' he returned; 'but it is because I have got you.'

The old man turned and looked at him with a tenderness I had never seen
on his face before. As soon as I saw that, I no longer doubted that he
could be saved.

We found rooms in a farm-house on the topmost height.

'These are poor little hills, Falconer,' I said. 'Yet they help one like
mountains.'

'The whole question is,' he returned, 'whether they are high enough to
lift you out of the dirt. Here we are in the airs of heaven--that is all
we need.'

'They make me think how often, amongst the country people of Scotland, I
have wondered at the clay-feet upon which a golden head of wisdom stood!
What poor needs, what humble aims, what a narrow basement generally, was
sufficient to support the statues of pure-eyed Faith and white-handed
Hope.'

'Yes,' said Falconer: 'he who is faithful over a few things is a lord of
cities. It does not matter whether you preach in Westminster Abbey, or
teach a ragged class, so you be faithful. The faithfulness is all.'

After an early dinner we went out for a walk, but we did not go far
before we sat down upon the grass. Falconer laid himself at full length
and gazed upwards.

'When I look like this into the blue sky,' he said, after a moment's
silence, 'it seems so deep, so peaceful, so full of a mysterious
tenderness, that I could lie for centuries, and wait for the dawning of
the face of God out of the awful loving-kindness.'

I had never heard Falconer talk of his own present feelings in this
manner; but glancing at the face of his f