the
gathering-day of rejoicing was over, and the Master of it all sat
alone by his fireside, with his wife's Bible on his knee. And he read
the texts and the dates and the prayers, from the first day when the
corn seeds were held back by drought; and as he read a new heart
seemed to burst out within him from the old one--a heart which the
Lord of the other Harvest was making soft, and the springing whereof
He would bless.

And henceforth, in his going out and coming in from watching the
fruits of the earth, the texts and the dates and the prayers were ever
present in his mind, often rising to his lips; and he murmured and
complained no more, let the seasons be what they would and his fears
however great; for the thought of the late-sprung seed in his own dry
cold heart, and of the long suffering of Him who was Lord and Master
of all, was with him night and day. And more and more as he prayed for
help, that the weary struggle might be blessed, and the new-born
watching and waiting not be in vain, so more and more there came over
his spirit a yearning for that other harvest, where he and she who had
gone before might be gathered in together.

And thus--in one hope of their calling--the long-divided hearts were
united at last.

A THANKSGIVING DINNER[24]

BY EDNA PAYSON BRETT.

Ministers' sons, somehow, have a bad reputation. Little
Johnnie was one and he thought it pretty hard to have to go
to church on Thanksgiving Day. But the pink-frosted cakes--

"Oh, dear!" puffed a certain little boy one bright Thanksgiving
morning, as he jerked his chubby neck into the stiffest of white
collars. "Great fun, isn't it, having to sit up in meeting for a
couple of hours straight as a telegraph pole when I might be playing
football and beating the Haddam team all to hollow! This is what comes
of your pa's being the minister, I s'pose."

[Footnote 24: From the _Youth's Companion_, November 29, 1900.]

But Johnnie, for that was his name, continued his dressing, the ten
years of his young life having taught him how useless it is to make a
fuss over what has to be done.

In a few minutes he had finished, and was quite satisfied with his
appearance, but for his shoes. These he eyed for a moment, and
concluding that they would not pass inspection, started for the
woodshed to give them a shine.

On his way he passed the open dining-room door, and suddenly halted.
"Oh! Why can't I have a nice little lunch d