Its
center was always Jesus Christ's teaching or example, or appeal. There
was in its complexity a vast simplicity; each was a part of all, and all
was in each.

"John Wesley Farwell, Jr.," said that young man to himself, "this thing
is not your discovery--but how does that bit of Keats' go?"

'Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
Silent, upon a peak in Darien,'

There you have it! But I might have known. Cortez, if it _was_ Cortez,
could not have guessed the Pacific. He had nothing to suggest it. But I
might have guessed the singleness of the church's work. What is my name
for, unless I can appreciate the man who said 'The world is my parish,'
and who would do anything--sell books, keep a savings bank, open a
dispensary--for the sake of saving souls? That's the single idea, the
simple idea. It makes all these queer activities part of one great
activity; and rests them all on one under-girding truth--'The Church's
one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord.'

But the wonderful thing to me is that, after all this time, I should
suddenly have found this out for myself!

"What a story to take home to Delafield! Pastor Drury is going to have
the surprise of his life!"

* * * * *

Three people met J.W. as his train pulled in to the station at
Delafield. The other two were his father and mother.

After the first tearfully happy greetings, J.W. looked around the
platform. "I rather thought Brother Drury might have come too," he said.

The others exchanged meaning glances, and his father asked, "Then you
didn't get my second letter at San Francisco?"

"No," said J.W., in vague alarm, "only the one. What's wrong? Is Mr.
Drury--"

"He's at home now, son," said the elder Farwell, gravely. "He came home
from our Conference hospital at Hillcrest two weeks ago. We hope he's
going to gain considerable strength, but he's had some sort of a
stroke, we don't rightly know what, and he's pretty hard hit. He's
better than he was last week, but he can't leave his room; sits in his
easy chair and doesn't say much."

J.W.'s heart ached. Without always realizing it, he had been counting
on long talks with the pastor; there was so much to tell him. And
especially so since that wonderful day out in the middle of the Pacific,