and twenty-six, six hundred and fifty-nine, and one hundred
and ten. Now I ask you as man to man, feeling sure you'll give me a
straight answer: Were those hymns specially selected for the reason
that I had chanced to drop in?"

Mr. Osborn stopped work, looked round quickly, and his face was all
bright and eager.

"No. But did you feel there was a special message to you in them?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Dale guardedly.

"Because it so often happens. It has happened again and again--to my
own knowledge."

"You'll understand, Mr. Osborn, that I didn't take them as any way
personal to myself--certainly not any way offensive; but it occurred
to me that it might perhaps be the habit whenever a stranger dropped
in to pick out hymns of strength, with a view to shaking him and
warming him up, as it were."

The pastor resumed his work. "Those hymns were given out the day
before--Saturday. Sister Eldridge had asked for one hundred and
twenty-six; number six hundred and fifty-nine was, as far as I
remember, also bespoken; and I chose number one hundred and ten
myself--because it is a great favorite of mine. So you see, Mr. Dale,
at the time we settled on those hymns, we did not know that you were
coming--and perhaps you did not know it yourself."

"I did not know it," said Dale.

"Tell me," said Mr. Osborn, "how doubt has assailed you."

"Ah, there you put me a puzzling one;" and Dale puffed at his pipe
laboriously.

"You oughtn't to doubt, you know. You have what men prize--wife,
children, and home. You thrive, and the world smiles on you."

"Yes, I'm more than solvent. I hope to leave Mrs. Dale and the babes
secure."

"But you don't feel secure yourself?"

"I banked a matter of seven hundred last year."

"You know I didn't mean that." Mr. Osborn worked briskly, and sent the
shavings almost to the ceiling. "But still--lots of men have told me
that material prosperity renders faith easy and doubt difficult.
That's the awful danger of trouble--the danger of thinking that God
has deserted us. It's easiest to recognize His hand when all's going
well with us. That's our poor human nature. And then when our sorrows
come, it's the devil's innings, and he'll whisper: 'Where's God now?
He isn't treating you very kindly, is He, in return for all your
praying and kneeling and believing?'"

"Yes, that just hits the nail on the head. It was what I said--at a
period when trouble fell upon me. It was how