er childish interests and
hopes, their vividly recollected pleasures, their sheltered luxuriance
of fatherly and motherly love? For how many thousands did the poet speak
when he wrote

"The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual
benediction."

A benediction which outlives the cares and troubles of later life which
we may carry with us to our dying day, and find perfected indeed in that
Unseen, where

"All we have willed, or hoped, or dreamed of good shall
exist, Not its semblance, but itself."

There was only one bit of annoyance during the whole time; it was on the
Sunday, the day before Erica was to go back to Greyshot. Gladys was not
very well and stayed at home, but Donovan and Erica went to church with
the children, starting rather early that they might enjoy the lovely
autumn morning, and also that they might put the weekly wreaths on two
graves in the little church yard. Donovan himself put the flowers upon
the first, Ralph and Dolly talking softly together about "little
Auntie Dot," then running off hand in hand to make the "captain's glave
plitty," as Dolly expressed it. Erica, following them, glanced at the
plain white headstone and read the name: "John Frewin, sometimes captain
of the 'Metora.'"

Then they went together into the little country church, and all at once
a shadow fell on her heart; for, as they entered at the west end, the
clergy and the choristers entered the chancel, and she saw that Mr.
Cuthbert was to take the service. The rector was taking his holiday, and
had enlisted help from Greyshot.

Happily no man has it in his power to mar the Church of England service,
but by and by came the sermon. Now Mr. Cuthbert cordially detested
Donovan; he made no secret of it. He opposed and thwarted him on every
possible occasion, and it is to be feared that personal malice had
something to do with his choice of a subject for that morning's sermon.

He had brought over to Oakdene a discourse on the eternity of
punishment. Perhaps he honestly believed that people could be frightened
to heaven, at any rate he preached a most ghastly sermon, and, what
was worse, preached it with vindictive energy. The poor, mangled,
much-distorted text about the tree lying as it falls was brought to the
fore once again, and, instead of bearing reference to universal charity
and almsgiving as it was intended to do, was ruthlessly torn from its
context and turned into a parable about th