r by his hands, since mine are now too
stained to offer to my own satisfaction. I'll do David's part,
please God, and help him to build up the House, in both senses,
the house I might have built with my own hands, had they been
otherwise occupied than they have been these last months. I am
quite resigned now. It is all for the best, doubtless.'

'What does he mean?' The Superintendent's rather assured face
grew quite indeterminate and puzzled.

'What he says, probably,' I hazarded. 'He's got a scruple an
old-world scruple.'

I picked up the Superintendent's khaki-covered Bible, and turned
over hastily the red, blue, and white edges.

'Here's the passage,' I said. 'Listen to what his namesake, the
other David, said: "But God said unto me, 'Thou shalt not build
an house for My Name, because thou hast been a man of war, and
hast shed blood."'

'Oh, that text!' said the Superintendent not very reverentially.
'I don't think that it's particularly relevant.'

'Isn't it what he thinks that matters?' I asked. 'No, make your
mind up to it. When he followed your own advice and went off to
the war, he decided. He decided to remain a layman to the end of
his earthly days. Some of us have got our scruples. His took
shape that way.'

'I don't see why,' said the Superintendent rather piteously. He
was genuinely disappointed. I liked him for the unconscious
tribute he was paying to him whom we discussed.

'Be consoled,' I said with a twinkle. 'His farm promises to be a
real lay centre of Christian influence. May we not rest assured
of that? Trust him to encourage native industries and native
ideas; Trust him to believe in the veld. Trust him to read to his
veld-dwellers the Sermon on the Mount; trust him to live it
rather. Trust him to deprecate, by example, as well as precept,
excessive care for food and raiment. Our missions are apt to be
rather over-ecclesiastical, aren't they? Far too much of an urban
and Europeanized type, don't you think? Be consoled, his lay
settlement may be trusted to teach us a lot. God grant that his
native priest-designate he has chosen to be his Solomon, may soon
come along! Be consoled!'

The Superintendent looked slightly aghast. 'I don't see where the
consolation comes in,' he groaned.

FOR HIS COUNTRY'S GOOD

Percy Benson opened his eyes and looked around him. He was lying
in a tiny grass-hut. How did he get there? He thought for a while
slowly; his head was very hot and heavy.