know what interest is."

"It's love."

"Mamma never called me Master," said Reuben.

The grave minister bites his lip, beckons his boy to him,--"Here, my
son!"--passes his arm around him, had almost drawn him to his heart,--

"There, there, Reuben; leave me now; I have my sermon to finish. I hope
you won't be disrespectful to your aunt again. Shut the door."

And the minister goes back to his work, ironly honest, mastering his
sensibilities, tearing great gaps in his heart, even as the anchorites
once fretted their bodies with hair-cloth and scourgings.

In the summer of 1828 Mr. Johns was called upon to preach a special
discourse at the Commencement exercises of the college from which he
had received his degree; and so sterlingly orthodox was his sermon, at a
crisis when some sister colleges were bolstering up certain new
theological tenets which had a strong taint of heresy, that the old
gentlemen who held rank as fellows of his college, in a burst of zeal,
bestowed upon the worthy man the title of D. D. It was not an honor he
had coveted; indeed, he coveted no human honors; yet this was more
wisely given than most: his dignity, his sobriety, his rigid, complete
adherence to all the accepted forms of religious belief made him a safe
recipient of the title.

The spinster sister, with an ill-concealed pride, was most zealous in
the bestowal of it; and before a month had passed, she had forced it
into current use throughout the world of Ashfield.

Did a neglectful neighbor speak of the good health of "Mr. Johns," the
mistress of the parsonage said,--"Why, yes, the Doctor is working very
hard, it is true; but he is quite well; the Doctor is remarkably well."

Did a younger church-sister speak in praise of some late sermon of "the
minister," Miss Eliza thanked her in a dignified way, and was sure "the
Doctor" would be most happy to hear that his efforts were appreciated.

As for Larkin and Esther, who stumbled dismally over the new title, the
spinster plied them urgently.

"Esther, my good woman, make the Doctor's tea very strong to-night."

"Larkin, the Doctor won't ride to-day; and mind, you must cut the wood
for the Doctor's fire a little shorter."

Reuben only rebelled, with the mischief of a boy:--

"What for do you call papa Doctor? He don't carry saddle-bags."

To the quiet, staid man himself it was a wholly indifferent matter. In
the solitude of his study, however, it recalled a neglected duty, and