nicants, and distinguished the true
people of God from the multitude--to whom he held out no hope--by so
many and stringent marks that Donald Menzies refused the Sacrament with
a lamentable groan. And when the Sacrament was over, and the time came
for Carmichael to shake hands with the assisting minister in the
vestry, the Rabbi had vanished, and he had no speech with him till they
went through the garden together--very bleak it seemed in the winter
dusk--unto the sermon that closed the services of the day.

[Illustration: WHEN CARMICHAEL GAVE HIM THE CUP IN THE SACRAMENT.]

"God's hand is heavy in anger on us both this day, John," and
Carmichael was arrested by the awe and sorrow in the Rabbi's voice,
"else . . . you had not spoken as you did this forenoon, nor would
necessity be laid on me to speak . . . as I must this night.

"His ways are all goodness and truth, but they are oftentimes
encompassed with darkness, and the burden He has laid on me is . . .
almost more than I can bear; it will be heavy for you also.

"You will drink the wine of astonishment this night, and it will be
strange if you do not . . . turn from the hand that pours it out, but
you will not refuse the truth or . . . hate the preacher"; and at the
vestry door the Rabbi looked wistfully at Carmichael.

During the interval the lad had been ill at ease, suspecting from the
Rabbi's manner at the Table, and the solemnity of his address, that he
disapproved of the action sermon, but he did not for a moment imagine
that the situation was serious. It is one of the disabilities of
good-natured and emotional people, without much deepness of earth, to
belittle the convictions and resolutions of strong natures, and to
suppose that they can be talked away by a few pleasant, coaxing words.

The Rabbi had often yielded to Carmichael and his other boys in the
ordinary affairs of life--in meat and drink and clothing, even unto the
continuance of his snuffing. He had been most manageable and
pliable--as a child in their hands--and so Carmichael was quite
confident that he could make matters right with the old man about a
question of doctrine as easily as about the duty of a midday meal.
Certain bright and superficial people will only learn by some solitary
experience that faith is reserved in friendship, and that the most
heroic souls are those which count all things loss--even the smile of
those they love--for the eternal. For a moment Carmichael was sha