me offended, and in the end dislike me. I think God
never made a man with so intense a craving for the love of his
fellow-men as I possess. And yet I am conscious that I cannot make
myself understood by very many people. They will always say, "How cold
and unapproachable he is." When in reality I love them with yearnings of
heart. Now, then, I am going to Milton with all this complex thought of
myself, and yet, dear chum, there is not the least doubt after all that
I ought to go. I hope that in the rush of the work there I shall be able
to forget myself. And then the work will stand out prominent as it
ought. With all my doubts of myself, I never question the wisdom of
entering the ministry. I have a very positive assurance as I work that I
am doing what I ought to do. And what can a man ask more? I am not
dissatisfied with the ministry, only with my own action within it. It is
the noblest of all professions; I feel proud of it every day. Only, it
is so great that it makes a man feel small when he steps inside.

Well, my wife is calling me down to tea. Let me know what you do. We
shall move to Milton next week, probably, so, if you write, direct
there. As ever, your old chum, PHILIP STRONG.

It was characteristic of Philip that in this letter he said nothing
about his call to Elmdale, and did not tell his college chum what salary
was offered him by the church at Milton. As a matter of fact he really
forgot all about everything, except the one important event of his
decision to go to Milton. He regarded it, and rightly so, as the most
serious step of his life; and while he had apparently decided the matter
very quickly, it was, in reality, the result of a deep conviction that
he ought to go. He was in the habit of making his decisions rapidly.
This habit sometimes led him into embarrassing mistakes, and once in a
great while resulted in humiliating reversals of opinion, so that people
who did not know him thought he was fickle and changeable. In the
present case, Philip acted with his customary quickness, and knew very
well that his action was unalterable.

CHAPTER II.

Within a week, Philip Strong had moved to Milton, as the church wished
him to occupy the pulpit at once. The parsonage was a well-planned house
next the church, and his wife soon made everything look very homelike.
The first Sunday evening after Philip preached in Milton, for the first
time, he chatted with his wife over the events of the d