faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters,
"I have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks,
from you; and as we have no power over conditions,--such as storms,
sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life,--I may be detained
long beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you will
each have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or others
detain me, that you will all trust and wait."

"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his
ears.

With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down
the winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his
children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he
might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his
soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and
dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his
soul to heaven for blessings on his household.

With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days
went down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold
and scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their
strong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly
the tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows
like snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill.
Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to
gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so
much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restless
at his long delay.

"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might
delay him?"

"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest."

"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as
yet was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for miles
around us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, let
us trust our father," he added, with a depth of feeling which touched
them all; and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would come
and be again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust of
the human heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passing
clouds, nor stretch forth its hand in darkness.

Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness,--again in
the shadows of distrust.

"He will never return," said one of