at the old latch, and,
fancying what it may mean, has come up in time to soothe him and bear
him off with her. The parson, forging some sermon for the next Sabbath,
in the room at the foot of the stairs, hears, may-be, the stifled
sobbing of the boy, as the good Esther half leads and half drags him
down, and opens his door upon them.

"What now, Esther? Has Reuben caught a fall?"

"No, Sir, no fall; he's not harmed, Sir. It's only the old room, you
know, Sir, and he quite forgot himself."

"Poor boy! Will he come with me, Esther?"

"No, Mr. Johns. I'll find something'll amuse him; hey, Ruby?"

And the parson goes back to his desk, where he forgets himself in the
glow of that great work of his. He has taught, as never before, that
"all flesh is grass." He accepts his loss as a punishment for having
thought too much and fondly of the blessings of this life; henceforth
the flesh and its affections shall be mortified in him. He has
transferred his bed to a little chamber which opens from his study in
the rear, and which is at the end of the long dining-room, where every
morning and evening the prayers are said, as before. The parishioners
see a light burning in the window of his study far into the night.

For a time his sermons are more emotional than before. Oftener than in
the earlier days of his settlement he indulges in a forecast of those
courts toward which he would conduct his people, and which a merciful
God has provided for those who trust in Him; and there is a coloring in
these pictures which his sermons never showed in the years gone.

"We ask ourselves," said he, "my brethren, if we shall knowingly meet
there--where we trust His grace may give us entrance--those from whom
you and I have parted; whether a fond and joyous welcome shall greet us,
not alone from Him whom to love is life, but from those dear ones who
seem to our poor senses to be resting under the sod yonder. Sometimes I
believe that by God's great goodness," (and here he looked, not at his
people, but above, and kept his eye fixed there)--"I believe that we
shall; that His great love shall so delight in making complete our
happiness, even by such little memorials of our earthly affections
(which must seem like waifs of thistle-down beside the great harvest of
His abounding grace); that all the dear faces of those written in the
Golden Book shall beam a welcome, all the more bounteous because
reflecting His joy who has died to save."

And