dren do that very thing
usually, and wise parents are willing to have it so.

But I cannot cease to remember that this story is out of my own
life. It lay in my heart unborn for long. It came forth in a time
of shock and pain. There is One who knows why its face is unmarred
and bright with the gladness of trust. I think God has let it
speak to so many hearts for this reason.

Go then, little story; be bearer of thy message of cheer and glad
restfulness. I cannot follow thee into lives that need to hear thy
voice; but speak thou to them, and I shall be content.

Yet I know, friends of mine, that as you look up somewhere in the
world from these pages, you will want to ask me a question.

It has been asked and answered many times already. Because I know
some of you are in sick-rooms, some are lonely and some companioned
by grief, some are poor and some for the time are misunderstood,
some are discouraged and some feel themselves little loved, some
are young and cannot find their way, and some are old and
wayworn,--because I know all of you have need of the Shepherd's
watch, I want to answer your question. Yes, we did indeed have
such a guest, a man whose home was among the Syrian shepherds, a
man who well knew the life which rightly interprets the Shepherd
Psalm.

I give my word that this story's message about the Psalm's meaning
is straight from David's land. We had such a guest and he told us
these things out of the life of his people, as we sat together one
night over fragrant cups of tea.

W. A. K.

Boston, January, 1904.

Can there be anything more poetic than this life of the Syrian
shepherd? It ought to be religious, too. Far, far away, out on
the lone mountain, with the everlasting hills around, and heaven
above, pure, blue, and high, and still. There go and worship in
solemn silence and soul-subduing solitude, worship the Most High
God in his temple not made with hands.

And now the lights are out in the village, the shepherds are asleep
by the side of their flocks, the tinkling bell from the fold falls
faintly on the still night air, and the watch-dog bays drowsily
from his kennel at the gate. Good night, fair world; 'tis time to
seek repose. Let us first read and meditate upon that delightful
chapter, the tenth of St. John, where our blessed Saviour
appropriates all these characters of a good shepherd to himself.

"The Land and the Book."

"Faduel Moghabghab," said our gu