re with some of his horses, and perhaps I could go West with him
some time to make a start in life."

"Yes," added the girl, "and wouldn't it be fine to hear him tell about
his adventures. And then perhaps he'd take an interest in us, and make
things easier for father, and if he liked my singing he might give the
money to send me to the Conservatory of Music. That would be great!"

"Yes," piped up the voice of Ruth from the sled, "and I wish he'd take
us all out to Due North with him to see the ponies and the big house.
That would be just lovely!"

Esther looked at Dan and smiled. Then she turned around.

"You little pitcher," she laughed, "what do you have such long ears
for? But you must keep your mouth shut, anyway. Remember, I don't want
you to speak to father about Uncle Abel."

"I didn't promise," said Ruth, shaking her head, "and I want him to
come--it'll be better'n Santa Claus."

By this time the children had arrived at the little red brick
parsonage, with its white wooden porch, on the side street a few doors
back of the church. They stamped the snow off their feet, put the sled
under the porch, hung their coats and hats in the entry, and went into
the parlour on the stroke of half past five.

Over the mantel hung an engraving of "The Death-Bed of John Knox,"
which they never looked at if they could help it; on the opposite wall
a copy of Reynolds's "Infant Samuel," which they adored. The pendent
lamp, with a view of Jerusalem on the shade and glass danglers around
the edge, shed a strong light on the marble-topped centre-table and
the red plush furniture and the pale green paper with gilt roses on
it.

On Saturday evening family worship came before supper. The cook and
the maid-of-all-work were in their places on the smallest chairs,
beside the door. On the sofa, where the children always sat, their
Bibles were laid out. The father was in the big arm-chair by the
centre-table with the book on his knees, already open.

The passage chosen was the last chapter of the Epistle of James. The
deep, even voice of Nathaniel North sounded through that terrible
denunciation of unholy riches with a gravity of conviction far more
impressive than the anger of the modern muck-raker. The hearts of the
children, remembering their conversation, were disturbed and vaguely
troubled. Then came the gentler words about patience and pity and
truthfulness and the healing of the sick. At the end each member of
the house-hol