ercy? Could I judge it, condemn and punish it, for some mistake or
wrong or weakness it had committed in its little world? And could God
be less kind, less merciful to me than I could be to this little bird?
Could he hold my soul in the hollow of his hand and vivisect it to
judge whether its errors were worthy of his divine anger? He knows how
weak and ignorant I am. I will not fear him," she said, her eyes
shining. "I will trust myself in his power--and believe in his love."

"The New Mennonite creed won't hold her long," thought Fairchilds.

"Our highest religious moments, Tillie," he said, "come to us, not
through churches, nor even through Bibles. They are the moments when we
are most receptive of the message Nature is always patiently waiting to
speak to us--if we will only hear. It is she alone that can lead us to
see God face to face, instead of 'through another man's dim thought of
him.'"

"Yes," agreed Tillie, "I have often felt more--more RELIGIOUS," she
said, after an instant's hesitation, "when I've been walking here alone
in the woods, or down by the creek, or up on Chestnut Hill--than I
could feel in church. In church we hear ABOUT God, as you say, through
other men's dim thoughts of Him. Here, alone, we are WITH him."

They walked in silence for a space, Tillie feeling with mingled bliss
and despair the fascination of this parting hour. But it did not occur
to Fairchilds that her departure from the hotel meant the end of their
intercourse.

"I shall come out to the farm to see you, Tillie, as often as you will
let me. You know, I've no one else to talk to, about here, as I talk
with you. What a pleasure it has been!"

"Oh, but father will never le--let me spend my time with you as I did
at the hotel! He will be angry at my being sent home, and he will keep
me constantly at work to make up for the loss it is to him. This is our
last talk together!"

"I'll risk your father's wrath, Tillie. You don't suppose I'd let a
small matter like that stand in the way of our friendship?"

"But father will not l--LET--me spend time with you. And if you come
when he told you not to he would put you out of William Penn!"

"I'm coming, all the same, Tillie."

"Father will blame me, if you do."

"Can't you take your own part, Tillie?" he gravely asked. "No, no," he
hastily added, for he did not forget the talk he had overheard about
the new caps, in which Mr. Getz had threatened personal violence to his
daughte