face for the
last time in the meekness of death!

"Ah! I was always too hard," Adam said to himself. "It's a sore fault in
me as I'm so hot and out o' patience with people when they do wrong, and
my heart gets shut up against 'em, so as I can't bring myself to forgive
'em. I see clear enough there's more pride nor love in my soul, for I
could sooner make a thousand strokes with th' hammer for my father than
bring myself to say a kind word to him. And there went plenty o' pride
and temper to the strokes, as the devil WILL be having his finger in
what we call our duties as well as our sins. Mayhap the best thing I
ever did in my life was only doing what was easiest for myself. It's
allays been easier for me to work nor to sit still, but the real tough
job for me 'ud be to master my own will and temper and go right against
my own pride. It seems to me now, if I was to find Father at home
to-night, I should behave different; but there's no knowing--perhaps
nothing 'ud be a lesson to us if it didn't come too late. It's well we
should feel as life's a reckoning we can't make twice over; there's
no real making amends in this world, any more nor you can mend a wrong
subtraction by doing your addition right."

This was the key-note to which Adam's thoughts had perpetually returned
since his father's death, and the solemn wail of the funeral psalm
was only an influence that brought back the old thoughts with stronger
emphasis. So was the sermon, which Mr. Irwine had chosen with reference
to Thias's funeral. It spoke briefly and simply of the words, "In the
midst of life we are in death"--how the present moment is all we can
call our own for works of mercy, of righteous dealing, and of family
tenderness. All very old truths--but what we thought the oldest truth
becomes the most startling to us in the week when we have looked on the
dead face of one who has made a part of our own lives. For when men want
to impress us with the effect of a new and wonderfully vivid light, do
they not let it fall on the most familiar objects, that we may measure
its intensity by remembering the former dimness?

Then came the moment of the final blessing, when the forever sublime
words, "The peace of God, which passeth all understanding," seemed to
blend with the calm afternoon sunshine that fell on the bowed heads of
the congregation; and then the quiet rising, the mothers tying on the
bonnets of the little maidens who had slept through the sermon,