ted them. My wife and I are the only
two since Jean left us."

"Is she your daughter?"

"Yes, the youngest, and the last of the girls to go from home. We
always had a hymn or two when she was here, for Jean had a fine voice."
A far-away look came into the old man's eyes as he uttered these words.
There was a gleam of pride, as well, showing how much he thought of
this daughter.

"Where is she now?" Douglas asked.

"She's in the city. She's been in the hospital there nigh on to three
years, training to be a nurse. We're looking for her home now any day.
I hope you'll meet her, sir, for my Jean is a comely girl, and as good
as she is beautiful. We have been very lonely without her. She always
took such an interest in Church matters, and taught in the Sunday
school. The children loved her, and she did so much good. I'm not
much use in the place, as I have to stay here all the time just mending
things. But, Jean! my, she was a power!"

"May I come to your service next Sunday?" Douglas asked as he rose to
go.

Into Joe's eyes leaped a look of pleasure.

"Would you care to come?"

"Indeed I should."

"Can you sing?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then you're doubly welcome. It will be great for us to have a
stranger join in our simple service."

As Douglas moved towards the door, his attention was arrested by a
picture on the wall of the Good Shepherd rescuing a lamb from a
dangerous place. He looked at it for a minute in silence.

"Fine picture, that," Joe remarked, as he rose from his bench and came
over to the young man's side. "It means very much to me."

"Yes, I suppose so," Douglas absently replied.

"I was just like that lamb there, once," Joe continued in a voice that
was low, yet filled with emotion. "I was the wandering sheep, if ever
there was one." Here he paused and gazed intently at the picture. "I
like to have it before me as I work. It tells me what I once was, and
how much He has done for me. It makes me both thankful and careful,
and it gives me a feeling of sympathy for any one who has gone astray."

Douglas walked slowly down the road, wrapped in thought. His
conversation with the old shoe-maker had done him a world of good. But
Joe's little glimpse of his past life was what affected him most of
all. How many other wandering sheep there were in the world, nay, in
this very parish, he mused. They were straying, as sheep without a
shepherd. Some one must bring them back, and who wo