an
event which did more than anything else to hasten his recovery. He was
still confined to bed downstairs when in the afternoon the bell rang,
and Mrs. Strong went to the door supposing it was one of the church
people come to inquire about the minister. She found instead Alfred
Burke, Philip's old college chum and Seminary classmate. Mrs. Strong
welcomed him heartily, and in answer to his eager inquiry concerning
Philip's condition she brought him into the room, knowing her patient
quite well and feeling sure the sight of his old chum would do him more
good than harm. The first thing Alfred said was:

"Old man, I hardly expected to see you again this side of heaven. How
does it happen that you are alive here after all the times the papers
have had you killed?"

"Bad marksmanship, principally. I used to think I was a big man. But
after the shooting I came to the conclusion that I must be rather
small."

"Your heart is so big it's a wonder to me that you weren't shot through
it, no matter where you were hit. But I tell you it seems good to see
you in the flesh once more."

"Why didn't you come and preach for me last Sunday?" asked Philip,
quizzically.

"Why, haven't you heard? I did not get news of the affair until last
Saturday in my Western parish, and I was just in the throes of packing
up to come on to Elmdale."

"Elmdale?"

"Yes, I've had a call there. So we shall be neighbors. Mrs. Burke is up
there now getting the house straightened out, and I came right down
here."

"So you are pastor of the Chapel Hill Church? It's a splendid opening
for a young preacher. Congratulations, Alfred."

"Thank you, Philip. By the way, I saw by the paper that you had declined
a call to Elmdale, so I suppose they pitched on me for a second choice.
You never wrote me of their call to you," he said, a little
reproachfully.

"It didn't occur to me," replied Philip, truthfully. "But how are you
going to like it? Isn't it rather a dull old place?"

"Yes, I suspect it is, compared with Milton. I suppose you couldn't live
without the excitement of dodging assassins and murderers every time you
go out to prayer meeting or make parish calls. How do you like your work
so far?"

"There is plenty of it," answered Philip, gravely. "A minister must be
made of cast-iron and fire-brick in order to stand the wear and tear of
these times in which we live. I'd like a week to trade ideas with you
and talk over the work, Alfred."

"You'