i' us close forever under de shadow of thy wing."

Then the congregation dispersed to the humble homes, glorified now by
the possibility of being made the dwelling-place of the King of kings.

CHAPTER XVII.

It was intensely warm in the Marlborough Steel Works. Outdoors the sun
beat fiercely upon the heads of toiling men and horses while the heat
waves danced with a dazzling shimmer along the brick pavements. Indoors
there was the steady thud of the engine, and the great hammers clanked
and the belts swept through the air with a deafening whirr, while the
workmen drew blackened hands across their grimy foreheads and John
Randolph gave a sigh of longing for the cool forest chambers of
Hollywood, as he leaned over to exchange a cheery word with Richard
Trueman, beside whom he had been working for over a year and for whom he
had come to entertain a strong feeling of affection.

Varied experiences had come to him since he had said good-by to his kind
Quaker friends and started on his search for work. Monotonous days of
wood piling in a lumber yard, long weeks of isolation among the giant
trees of the forest, where no sound was to be heard except the whistle
of the axes, as they cleaved the air, and the coarse jokes of the
workmen,--then had come days when even odd jobs had been hailed with
delight, and he had sat at the feet of the grim schoolmistress Necessity
and learned how little man really needs to have to live. And then the
Steel Works had opened again and he had forged his way up through the
different departments to the responsible position he now held. His
promotion had been rapid. The foreman had been quick to note the keen,
intelligent interest and deft-handedness of this strangely alert new
employe. He finished his work in the very best way that it was possible
to do it, even though it took a little longer in the doing. Such workmen
were not common at the Marlborough Steel Works. He put his heart into
whatever he did. That was John Randolph's way. There was something about
the work which pleased him. It gave him a feeling of triumph to watch
the evolution of the crude chaos into the finished perfection, and see
how through baptism of fire and flood the diverse particles emerged at
length a beautifully tempered whole. He read as in an allegory the
discipline which a soul needs to fit it for the kingdom, and so
throughout the meshes of his daily toil John Randolph wove his parable.

When evening came he w