rch that
day. John Wesley had walked over from Epworth; and when the bell
ceased ringing, and the minutes passed, and still no rector appeared,
had stepped quietly to the reading-desk.

After service he walked across to the parsonage, knocked gently at
the study door and entered.

"Brother Whitelamb," he said, "you have need of us, I think, and I
know that my father has need of you. To-morrow I return to Oxford,
and I leave a letter with him that he will wish to answer. Death has
shaken him by the hand and it cannot guide a pen: he will be glad to
employ his old amanuensis. What is more, his answer to my letter
will contain much worth your pondering, as well as mine, for it will
be concerned with even such a spiritual charge as you have this day
been neglecting."

"Brother Wesley," answered the widower, looking up, "you have done a
kind deed this morning. But what was your text?"

"My text was, 'Son of man, behold I take from thee the desire of
thine eyes with a stroke: yet shalt thou not mourn or weep, neither
shall thy tears run down.'"

"I love you, brother: you have ever been kind indeed to me. Yet you
put it in my mind at times, that the poor servant with one talent had
some excuse, if a poor defence, who said 'I know thee, that thou art
a hard man.'"

"Do I reap then where I have not sown, and gather where I have not
strewn?"

"I will not say that. But I see that others prepare the way for you
and will do so, as Charles prepared it at Oxford: and finding it
prepared, you take command and march onward. You were born to take
command: the hand of God is evident upon you. But some grow faint by
the way and drop behind, and you have no bowels for these."

Silence fell between them. John Whitelamb broke it. "I can guess
what your father's letter will be--a last appeal to you to succeed
him in Epworth parish. Do you mean to consent?"

"I think not. My reasons--"

"Nay, it is certain you will not. And as for your reasons, they do
not matter: they may be good, but God has better, who decides for
you. Yet deal gently with the old man, for you are denying the
dearest wish of his heart."

"May I tell him that you will come?"

"I will come when he sends for me."

Mr. Wesley's message did not arrive until a good fortnight later,
during which time John Whitelamb had fallen back upon his own sorrow.
He resumed his duties, but with no heart. From the hour of his
wife's death he sank gradually int