trong and courageous.
That is the road. Venture anything. Be brave enough to
dare to be loved. Be something more than man or woman.
Be Tandy."

The stranger arose and staggered off down the street.
A day or two later he got aboard a train and returned
to his home in Cleveland. On the summer evening, after
the talk before the hotel, Tom Hard took the girl child
to the house of a relative where she had been invited
to spend the night. As he went along in the darkness
under the trees he forgot the babbling voice of the
stranger and his mind returned to the making of
arguments by which he might destroy men's faith in God.
He spoke his daughter's name and she began to weep.

"I don't want to be called that," she declared. "I
want to be called Tandy--Tandy Hard." The child wept so
bitterly that Tom Hard was touched and tried to comfort
her. He stopped beneath a tree and, taking her into his
arms, began to caress her. "Be good, now," he said
sharply; but she would not be quieted. With childish
abandon she gave herself over to grief, her voice
breaking the evening stillness of the street. "I want
to be Tandy. I want to be Tandy. I want to be Tandy
Hard," she cried, shaking her head and sobbing as
though her young strength were not enough to bear the
vision the words of the drunkard had brought to her.

THE STRENGTH OF GOD

The Reverend Curtis Hartman was pastor of the
Presbyterian Church of Winesburg, and had been in that
position ten years. He was forty years old, and by his
nature very silent and reticent. To preach, standing in
the pulpit before the people, was always a hardship for
him and from Wednesday morning until Saturday evening
he thought of nothing but the two sermons that must be
preached on Sunday. Early on Sunday morning he went
into a little room called a study in the bell tower of
the church and prayed. In his prayers there was one
note that always predominated. "Give me strength and
courage for Thy work, O Lord!" he pleaded, kneeling on
the bare floor and bowing his head in the presence of
the task that lay before him.

The Reverend Hartman was a tall man with a brown beard.
His wife, a stout, nervous woman, was the daughter of a
manufacturer of underwear at Cleveland, Ohio. The
minister himself was rather a favorite in the town. The
elders of the church liked him because he was quiet and
unpretentious and Mrs. White, the banker's wife,
thought him scholarly and refined.

The Presbyteria