alf of the Bible, and his head was very near to
hers as his deep, full voice pronounced the solemn words in which Ruth
pleaded so many years before.

"'Entreat me not to leave thee,'" he read, "'or to return from following
after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I
will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'"

He stopped to ponder over the poetry of the lines.

"Kind o' pretty, ain't it?" Polly said softly. She felt awkward and
constrained and a little overawed.

"There are far more beautiful things than that," Douglas assured her
enthusiastically, as the echo of many such rang in his ears.

"There are?" And her eyes opened wide with wonder.

"Yes, indeed," he replied, pitying more and more the starvation of mind
and longing to bring to it floods of light and enrichment.

"I guess I'd LIKE to hear YOU spiel," and she fell to studying him
solemnly.

"You would?" he asked eagerly.

"Is there any more to that story?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Yes, indeed."

"Would you read me a little more?" She was very humble now.

"Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so
to me and more also, if ought but death part me and thee.'"

Their eyes met. There was a long pause. Suddenly the sharp, sweet notes
of the church bell brought John Douglas to his feet with a start of
surprise.

"Have you got to go?" Polly asked regretfully.

"Yes, I must; but I'll read the rest from the church. Open the window,
Mandy!" And he passed out of the door and quickly down the stairs.

Chapter VI

WHEN John Douglas's uncle offered to educate his nephew for the
ministry, the boy was less enthusiastic than his mother. He did not
remonstrate, however, for it had been the custom of generations for at
least one son of each Douglas family to preach the gospel of Calvinism,
and his father's career as an architect and landscape gardener had not
left him much capital.

Douglas, senior, had been recognised as an artist by the few who
understood his talents, but there is small demand for the builder of
picturesque houses in the little business towns of the Middle West, and
at last he passed away, leaving his son only the burden of his financial
failure and an ardent desire to succeed at the profession in which his
father had fared so badly. The hopeless, defeated look on the departed
man's face had always haunted the boy, who was artist enough to feel his