in thought to the memory of that harbour of refuge from
the storm. There I sat for long hours secure in my father's arms, and
knew that the soundless snow was falling thick around us, and marked
occasionally the threatening wail of the wind like the cry of a wild
beast scenting us from afar.

"This is grand, father," I said.

"You would like better to be at home in bed, wouldn't you?" he asked,
trying me.

"No, indeed, I should not," I answered, with more than honesty; for I
felt exuberantly happy.

"If only we can keep warm," said my father. "If you should get very
cold indeed, you must not lose heart, my man, but think how pleasant
it will be when we get home to a good fire and a hot breakfast."

"I think I can bear it all right. I have often been cold enough at
school."

"This may be worse. But we need not anticipate evil: that is to send
out for the suffering. It is well to be prepared for it, but it is ill
to brood over a fancied future of evil. In all my life, my boy--and I
should like you to remember what I say--I have never found any trial
go beyond what I could bear. In the worst cases of suffering, I think
there is help given which those who look on cannot understand, but
which enables the sufferer to endure. The last help of that kind is
death, which I think is always a blessing, though few people can
regard it as such."

I listened with some wonder. Without being able to see that what he
said was true, I could yet accept it after a vague fashion.

"This nest which we have made to shelter us," he resumed, "brings to
my mind what the Psalmist says about dwelling in the secret place of
the Most High. Everyone who will, may there, like the swallow, make
himself a nest."

"This can't be very like that, though, surely, father," I ventured to
object.

"Why not, my boy?"

"It's not safe enough, for one thing."

"You are right there. Still it is like. It is our place of refuge."

"The cold does get through it, father."

"But it keeps our minds at peace. Even the refuge in God does not
always secure us from external suffering. The heart may be quite happy
and strong when the hands are benumbed with cold. Yes, the heart even
may grow cold with coming death, while the man himself retreats the
farther into the secret place of the Most High, growing more calm and
hopeful as the last cold invades the house of his body. I believe that
all troubles come to drive us into that refuge--that secret place
whe