A MODERN IDYLL

By Frank Harris

"I call it real good of you, Mr. Letgood, to come and see me. Won't yoube seated?"

"Thank you. It's very warm to-day; and as I didn't feel like reading orwriting, I thought I'd come round. "

"You're just too kind for anythin'! To come an' pay me a visit when youmust be tired out with yesterday's preachin'. An' what a sermon you gaveus in the mornin'--it was too sweet. I had to wink my eyes pretty hard, an' pull the tears down the back way, or I should have cried rightout--and Mrs. Jones watchin' me all the time under that dreadfulbonnet. "

Mrs. Hooper had begun with a shade of nervousness in the hurried words;but the emotion disappeared as she took up a comfortable pose in thecorner of the small sofa. 

The Rev. John Letgood, having seated himself in an armchair, looked ather intently before replying. She was well worth looking at, this Mrs. Hooper, as she leaned back on the cushions in her cool white dress, which was so thin and soft and well-fitting that her form could be seenthrough it almost as clearly as through water. She appeared to be abouteighteen years old, and in reality was not yet twenty. At first sightone would have said of her, "a pretty girl;" but an observant eye onthe second glance would have noticed those contradictions in face and inform which bear witness to a certain complexity of nature. Her featureswere small, regular, and firmly cut; the long, brown eyes looked outconfidently under straight, well-defined brows; but the forehead waslow, and the sinuous lips a vivid red. So, too, the slender figure andnarrow hips formed a contrast with the throat, which pouted in soft, white fulness. 

"I am glad you liked the sermon, " said the minister, breaking thesilence, "for it is not probable that you will hear many more from me. "There was just a shade of sadness in the lower tone with which he endedthe phrase. He let the sad note drift in unconsciously--by dint ofpractice he had become an artist in the management of his voice. 

"You don't say!" exclaimed Mrs. Hooper, sitting up straight in herexcitement "You ain't goin' to leave us, I hope?"

"Why do you pretend, Belle, to misunderstand me? You know I said threemonths ago that if you didn't care for me I should have to leave thisplace. And yesterday I told you that you must make up your mind at once, as I was daily expecting a call to Chicago. Now I have come for youranswer, and you treat me as if I were a stranger, and you knew nothingof what I feel for you. "

"Oh!" she sighed, languorously nestling back into the corner. "Is thatall? I thought for a moment the 'call' had come. "

"No, it has not yet; but I am resolved to get an answer from you to-day, or I shall go away, call or no call. "

"What would Nettie Williams say if she heard you?" laughed Mrs. Hooper, with mischievous delight in her eyes. 

"Now, Belle, " he said in tender remonstrance, leaning forward and takingthe small cool hand in his, "what is my answer to be? Do you love me? Oram I to leave Kansas City, and try somewhere else to get again into thespirit of my work? God forgive me, but I want you to tell me to stay. Will you?"

"Of course I will, " she returned, while slowly withdrawing her hand. "There ain't any one wants you to go, and why should you?"

"Why? Because my passion for you prevents me from doing my work. Youtease and torture me with doubt, and when I should be thinking of myduties I am wondering whether or not you care for me. Do you love me? Imust have a plain answer. "

"Love you?" she repeated pensively. "I hardly know, but--"

"But what?" he asked impatiently. 

"But--I must just see after the pies; this 'help' of ours is Irish, an'doesn't know enough to turn them in the oven. And Mr. Hooper don't likeburnt pies. "

She spoke with coquettish gravity, and got up to go out of the room. Butwhen Mr. Letgood also rose, she stopped and smiled--waiting perhaps forhim to take his leave. As he did not speak she shook out her frockand then pulled down her bodice at the waist and drew herself up, thusthrowing into relief the willowy outlines of her girlish form. Theprovocative grace, unconscious or intentional, of the attitude was notlost on her admirer. For an instant he stood irresolute, but when shestepped forward to pass him, he seemed to lose his self-control, and, putting his arms round her, tried to kiss her. With serpent speed andlitheness she bowed her head against his chest, and slipped out of theembrace. On reaching the door she paused to say, over her shoulder: "Ifyou'll wait, I'll be back right soon;" then, as if a new thought hadoccurred to her, she added turning to him: "The Deacon told me he wascoming home early to-day, and he'd be real sorry to miss you. "

As she disappeared, he took up his hat, and left the house. 

It was about four o'clock on a day in mid-June. The sun was pouring downrays of liquid flame; the road, covered inches deep in fine white dust, and the wooden side-walks glowed with the heat, but up and down thesteep hills went the minister unconscious of physical discomfort. 

"Does she care for me, or not? Why can't she tell me plainly? Theteasing creature! Did she give me the hint to go because she was afraidher husband would come in? Or did she want to get rid of me in order notto answer?. .. She wasn't angry with me for putting my arms round her, and yet she wouldn't let me kiss her. Why not? She doesn't love him. She married him because she was poor, and he was rich and a deacon. Shecan't love him. He must be fifty-five if he's a day. Perhaps she doesn'tlove me either--the little flirt! But how seductive she is, and what abody, so round and firm and supple--not thin at all. I have the feel ofit on my hands now--I can't stand this. "

Shaking himself vigorously, he abandoned his meditation, which, likemany similar ones provoked by Mrs. Hooper, had begun in vexation andended in passionate desire. Becoming aware of the heat and dust, hestood still, took off his hat, and wiped his forehead. 

The Rev. John Letgood was an ideal of manhood to many women. He waslargely built, but not ungainly--the coarseness of the hands being thechief indication of his peasant ancestry. His head was rather round, andstrongly set on broad shoulders; the nose was straight and well formed;the dark eyes, however, were somewhat small, and the lower part of theface too massive, though both chin and jaw were clearly marked. A long, thick, brown moustache partly concealed the mouth; the lower lip couldjust be seen, a little heavy, and sensual; the upper one was certainlyflexile and suasive. A good-looking man of thirty, who must have beenhandsome when he was twenty, though even then, probably, too much drawnby the pleasures of the senses to have had that distinction of personwhich seems to be reserved for those who give themselves to thoughtor high emotions. On entering his comfortable house, he was met by hisnegro "help, " who handed him his "mail": "I done brot these, Massa;they's all. " "Thanks, Pete, " he replied abstractedly, going into hiscool study. He flung himself into an armchair before the writing-table, and began to read the letters. Two were tossed aside carelessly, but onopening the third he sat up with a quick exclamation. Here at lastwas the "call" he had been expecting, a "call" from the deacons of theSecond Baptist Church in Chicago, asking him to come and minister totheir spiritual wants, and offering him ten thousand dollars a year forhis services. 

For a moment exultation overcame every other feeling in the man. A lightflashed in his eyes as he exclaimed aloud: "It was that sermon did it!What a good thing it was that I knew their senior deacon was in thechurch on purpose to hear me! How well I brought in the apostrophe onthe cultivation of character that won me the prize at college! Ah, Ihave never done anything finer than that, never! and perhaps never shallnow. I had been reading Channing then for months, was steeped in him;but Channing has nothing as good as that in all his works. It has moreweight and dignity--dignity is the word--than anything he wrote. Andto think of its bringing me this! Ten thousand dollars a year and thesecond church in Chicago, while here they think me well paid with five. Chicago! I must accept it at once. Who knows, perhaps I shall get to NewYork yet, and move as many thousands as here I move hundreds. No! not I. I do not move them. I am weak and sinful. It is the Holy Spirit, and thepower of His grace. O Lord, I am thankful to Thee who hast been good tome unworthy!" A pang of fear shot through him: "Perhaps He sends this towin me away from Belle. " His fancy called her up before him as she hadlain on the sofa. Again he saw the bright malicious glances and the redlips, the full white throat, and the slim roundness of her figure. Hebowed his head upon his hands and groaned. "O Lord, help me! I know notwhat to do. Help me, O Lord!"

As if prompted by a sudden inspiration, he started to his feet. "Nowshe must answer! Now what will she say? Here _is_ the call. Ten thousanddollars a year! What will she say to that?"

He spoke aloud in his excitement, all that was masculine in him glowingwith the sense of hard-won mastery over the tantalizing evasiveness ofthe woman. 

On leaving his house he folded up the letter, thrust it into thebreast-pocket of his frock-coat, and strode rapidly up the hill towardsMrs. Hooper's. At first he did not even think of her last words, butwhen he had gone up and down the first hill and was beginning to climbthe second they suddenly came back to him. He did not want to meet herhusband--least of all now. He paused. What should he do? Should he waittill to-morrow? No, that was out of the question; he couldn't wait. Hemust know what answer to send to the call. If Deacon Hooper happenedto be at home he would talk to him about the door of the vestry, whichwould not shut properly. If the Deacon was not there, he would see herand force a confession from her. .. . 

While the shuttle of his thought flew thus to and fro, he did not at allrealize that he was taking for granted what he had refused to believehalf an hour before. He felt certain now that Deacon Hooper would notbe in, and that Mrs. Hooper had got rid of him on purpose to avoid hisimportunate love-making. When he reached the house and rang the bell hisfirst question was:

"Is the Deacon at home?"

"No, sah. "

"Is Mrs. Hooper in?"

"Yes, sah. "

"Please tell her I should like to see her for a moment. I will not keepher long. Say it's very important. "

"Yes, Massa, I bring her shuah, " said the negress with a good-naturedgrin, opening the door of the drawing-room. 

In a minute or two Mrs. Hooper came into the room looking as cool andfresh as if "pies" were baked in ice. 

"Good day, _again_ Mr. Letgood. Won't you take a chair?"

He seemed to feel the implied reproach, for without noticing herinvitation to sit down he came to the point at once. Plunging his handinto his pocket, he handed her the letter from Chicago. 

She took it with the quick interest of curiosity, but as she read, thecolour deepened in her cheeks, and before she had finished it she brokeout, "Ten thousand dollars a year!"

As she gave the letter back she did not raise her eyes, but saidmusingly: "That is a call indeed. .. " Staring straight before her sheadded: "How strange it should come to-day! Of course you'll accept it. "

A moment, and she darted the question at him:

"Does she know? Have you told Miss Williams yet? But there, I supposeyou have!" After another pause, she went on:

"What a shame to take you away just when we had all got to know and likeyou! I suppose we shall have some old fogey now who will preach againstdancin' an' spellin'-bees an' surprise-parties. And, of course, he won'tlike me, or come here an' call as often as you do--makin' the othergirls jealous. I shall hate the change!" And in her innocent excitementshe slowly lifted her brown eyes to his. 

"You know you're talking nonsense, Belle, " he replied, with graveearnestness. "I've come for _your_ answer. If you wish me to stay, ifyou really care for me, I shall refuse this offer. "

"You don't tell!" she exclaimed. "Refuse ten thousand dollars a yearand a church in Chicago to stay here in Kansas City! I know I shouldn't!Why, " and she fixed her eyes on his as she spoke, "you must be real goodeven to think of such a thing. But then, you won't refuse, " she added, pouting. "No one would, " she concluded, with profound conviction. 

"Oh, yes, " answered the minister, moving to her and quietly putting bothhands on her waist, while his voice seemed to envelope and enfold herwith melodious tenderness. 

"Oh, yes, I shall refuse it, Belle, if _you_ wish me to; refuse it asI should ten times as great a prize, as I think I should refuse--Godforgive me!--heaven itself, if you were not there to make it beautiful. "

While speaking he drew her to him gently; her body yielded to his touch, and her gaze, as if fascinated, was drawn into his. But when the flowof words ceased, and he bent to kiss her, the spell seemed to lose itspower over her. In an instant she wound herself out of his arms, andwith startled eyes aslant whispered:

"Hush! he's coming! Don't you hear his step?" As Mr. Letgood went againtowards her with a tenderly reproachful and incredulous "Now, Belle, "she stamped impatiently on the floor while exclaiming in a low, butangry voice, "Do take care! That's the Deacon's step. "

At the same moment her companion heard it too. The sounds were distincton the wooden side-walk, and when they ceased at the little gate four orfive yards from the house he knew that she was right. 

He pulled himself together, and with a man's untimely persistence spokehurriedly:

"I shall wait for your answer till Sunday morning next. Before then youmust have assured me of your love, or I shall go to Chicago--"

Mrs. Hooper's only reply was a contemptuous, flashing look thatsucceeded in reducing the importunate clergyman to silence--just intime--for as the word "Chicago" passed his lips the handle of the doorturned, and Deacon Hooper entered the room. 

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Letgood?" said the Deacon cordially. "I'm gladto see you, sir, as you are too, I'm sartin, " he added, turning to hiswife and putting his arms round her waist and his lips to her cheek inan affectionate caress. "Take a seat, won't you? It's too hot to stand. "As Mrs. Hooper sank down beside him on the sofa and their visitor drewover a chair, he went on, taking up again the broken thread of histhought. "No one thinks more of you than Isabelle. She said only lastSunday there warn't such a preacher as you west of the MississippiRiver. How's that for high, eh?"--And then, still seeking back like adog on a lost scent, he added, looking from his wife to the clergyman, as if recalled to a sense of the actualities of the situation by acertain constraint in their manner, "But what's that I heard aboutChicago? There ain't nothin' fresh--Is there?"

"Oh, " replied Mrs. Hooper, with a look of remonstrance thrown sidewaysat her admirer, while with a woman's quick decision she at once cut theknot, "I guess there is something fresh. Mr. Letgood, just think of it, has had a 'call' from the Second Baptist Church in Chicago, and it'sten thousand dollars a year. Now who's right about his preachin'? And heain't goin' to accept it. He's goin' to stay right here. At least, " sheadded coyly, "he said he'd refuse it--didn't you?"

The Deacon stared from one to the other as Mr. Letgood, with a forcedhalf-laugh which came from a dry throat, answered: "That would be goingperhaps a little too far. I said, " he went on, catching a coldness inthe glance of the brown eyes, "I wished to refuse it. But of course Ishall have to consider the matter thoroughly--and seek for guidance. "

"Wall, " said the Deacon in amazement, "ef that don't beat everythin'. I guess nobody would refuse an offer like that. _Ten thousand dollarsa year!_ Ten thousand. Why, that's twice what you're get-tin' here. Youcan't refuse that. I know you wouldn't ef you war' a son of mine--asyou might be. Ten thousand. No, sir. An' the Second Baptist Church inChicago is the first; it's the best, the richest, the largest. Thereain't no sort of comparison between it and the First. No, sir! Thereain't none. Why, James P. Willis, him as was here and heard you--that'show it came about, that's how!--he's the senior Deacon of it, an' Iguess he can count dollars with any man this side of New York. Yes, sir, with any man west of the Alleghany Mountains. " The breathless excitementof the good Deacon changed gradually as he realized that his hearerswere not in sympathy with him, and his speech became almost solemn inits impressiveness as he continued. "See here! This ain't a thing towaste. Ten thousand dollars a year to start with, an' the best churchin Chicago, you can't expect to do better than that. Though you're youngstill, when the chance comes, it should be gripped. "

"Oh, pshaw!" broke in Mrs. Hooper irritably, twining her fingers andtapping the carpet with her foot, "Mr. Letgood doesn't want to leaveKansas City. Don't you understand? Perhaps he likes the folk here justas well as any in Chicago. " No words could describe the glance whichaccompanied this. It was appealing, and coquettish, and triumphant, andthe whole battery was directed full on Mr. Let-good, who had by thistime recovered his self-possession. 

"Of course, " he said, turning to the Deacon and overlooking Mrs. Hooper's appeal, "I know all that, and I don't deny that the 'call' atfirst seemed to draw me. " Here his voice dropped as if he were speakingto himself: "It offers a wider and a higher sphere of work, but there'swork, too, to be done here, and I don't know that the extra salaryought to tempt me. _Take neither scrip nor money in your purse_, " and hesmiled, "you know. "

"Yes, " said the Deacon, his eyes narrowing as if amazement were givingplace to a new emotion; "yes, but that ain't meant quite literally, Ireckon. Still, it's fer you to judge. But ef you refuse ten thousanddollars a year, why, there are mighty few who would, and that's all I'vegot to say--mighty few, " he added emphatically, and stood up as if toshake off the burden of a new and, therefore, unwelcome thought. 

When the minister also rose, the physical contrast between the two menbecame significant. Mr. Let-good's heavy frame, due to self-indulgenceor to laziness, might have been taken as a characteristic product of therich, western prairies, while Deacon Hooper was of the pure Yankee type. His figure was so lank and spare that, though not quite so tall as hisvisitor, he appeared to be taller. His face was long and angular; theround, clear, blue eyes, the finest feature of it, the narrowness ofthe forehead the worst. The mouth-corners were drawn down, and the lipshardened to a line by constant compression. No trace of sensuality. Howcame this man, grey with age, to marry a girl whose appeal to the senseswas already so obvious? The eyes and prominent temples of the idealistsupplied the answer. Deacon Hooper was a New Englander, trained in thebitterest competition for wealth, and yet the Yankee in him masked afund of simple, kindly optimism, which showed itself chiefly in hisdevoted affection for his wife. He had not thought of his age when hemarried, but of her and her poverty. And possibly he was justified. Thesnow-garment of winter protects the tender spring wheat. 

"It's late, " Mr. Letgood began slowly, "I must be going home now. Ithought you might like to hear the news, as you are my senior Deacon. Your advice seems excellent; I shall weigh the 'call' carefully;but"--with a glance at Mrs. Hooper--"I am disposed to refuse it. " Noanswering look came to him. He went on firmly and with emphasis, "_Iwish_ to refuse it. --Good day, Mrs. Hooper, _till next Sunday_. Goodday, Deacon. "

"Good day, Mr. Letgood, " she spoke with a little air of precisecourtesy. 

"Good day, sir, " replied the Deacon, cordially shaking the profferedhand, while he accompanied his pastor to the street door. 

The sun was sinking, and some of the glory of the sunset colouringseemed to be reflected in Deacon Hooper's face, as he returned to thedrawing-room and said with profound conviction:--

"Isabelle, that man's jest about as good as they make them. He's what Icall a real Christian--one that thinks of duty first and himself last. Ef that ain't a Christian, I'd like to know what is. "

"Yes, " she rejoined meditatively, as she busied herself arranging thechairs and tidying the sofa into its usual stiff primness; "I guess he'sa good man. " And her cheek flushed softly. 

"Wall, " he went on warmly, "I reckon we ought to do somethin' in this. There ain't no question but he fills the church. Ef we raised thepew-rents we could offer him an increase of salary to stay--I guess thatcould be done. "

"Oh! don't do anything, " exclaimed the wife, as if awaking to thesignificance of this proposal, "anyway not until he has decided. Itwould look--mean, don't you think? to offer him somethin' more to stay. "

"I don't know but you're right, Isabelle; I don't know but you'reright, " repeated her husband thoughtfully. "It'll look better if hedecides before hearin' from us. There ain't no harm, though, in thinkin'the thing over and speakin' to the other Deacons about it. I'll kinderfind out what they feel. "

"Yes, " she replied mechanically, almost as if she had not heard. "Yes, that's all right. " And she slowly straightened the cloth on thecentre-table, given over again to her reflections. 

Mr. Letgood walked home, ate his supper, went to bed and slept thatnight as only a man does whose nervous system has been exhausted byvarious and intense emotions. He even said his prayers by rote. Andlike a child he slept with tightly-clenched fists, for in him, as in thechild, the body's claims were predominant. 

When he awoke next morning, the sun was shining in at his bedroomwindow, and at once his thoughts went back to the scenes and emotionsof the day before. An unusual liveliness of memory enabled him to reviewthe very words which Mrs. Hooper had used. He found nothing to regret. He had certainly gained ground by telling her of the call. The torporwhich had come upon him the previous evening formed a complete contrastto the blithesome vigour he now enjoyed. He seemed to himself to be adifferent man, recreated, as it were, and endowed with fresh springs oflife. While he lay in the delightful relaxation and warmth of the bed, and looked at the stream of sunshine which flowed across the room, hebecame confident that all would go right. 

"Yes, " he decided, "she cares for me, or she would never have wished meto stay. Even the Deacon helped me--" The irony of the fact shocked him. He would not think of it. He might get a letter from her by two o'clock. With pleasure thrilling through every nerve, he imagined how she wouldword her confession. For she had yielded to him; he had felt her bodymove towards him and had seen the surrender in her eyes. While musingthus, passion began to stir in him, and with passion impatience. 

"Only half-past six o'clock, " he said to himself, pushing his watchagain under the pillow; "eight hours to wait till mail time. Eightendless hours. What a plague!"

His own irritation annoyed him, and he willingly took up again thethread of his amorous reverie: "What a radiant face she has, what finenervefulness in the slim fingers, what softness in the full throat!"Certain incidents in his youth before he had studied for the ministrycame back to him, bringing the blood to his cheeks and making histemples throb. As the recollections grew vivid they became a torment. Toregain quiet pulses he forced his mind to dwell upon the details of his"conversion"--his sudden resolve to live a new life and to give himselfup to the service of the divine Master. The yoke was not easy; theburden was not light. On the contrary. He remembered innumerablecontests with his rebellious flesh, contests in which he was nevercompletely victorious for more than a few days together, but in which, especially during the first heat of the new enthusiasm, he had struggleddesperately. Had his efforts been fruitless?. .. 

He thought with pride of his student days--mornings given to books andto dreams of the future, and evenings marked by passionate emotions, newcompanions reinspiring him continually with fresh ardour. The time spentat college was the best of his life. He had really striven, then, as fewstrive, to deserve the prize of his high calling. During those years, itseemed to him, he had been all that an earnest Christian should be. He recalled, with satisfaction, the honours he had won in Biblicalknowledge and in history, and the more easily gained rewards forrhetoric. It was only natural that he should have been immediatelysuccessful as a preacher. How often he had moved his flock to tears! Nowonder he had got on. 

Those first successes, and the pleasures which they brought with them ofgratified vanity, had resulted in turning him from a Christian into anorator. He understood this dimly, but he thrust back the unwelcome truthwith the reflection that his triumphs in the pulpit dated from the timewhen he began consciously to treat preaching as an art. After all, washe not there to win souls to Christ, and had not Christ himself praisedthe wisdom of the serpent? Then came the change from obscurity andnarrow living in the country to Kansas City and luxury. He had been wisein avoiding that girl at Pleasant Hill. He smiled complacently as hethought of her dress, manners, and speech. Yet she was pretty, verypretty, and she had loved him with the exclusiveness of womanhood, butstill he had done right. He congratulated himself upon his intuitiveknowledge that there were finer girls in the world to be won. He had notfettered himself foolishly through pity or weakness. 

During his ten years of life as a student and minister he had beenchaste. He had not once fallen into flagrant sin. His fervour ofunquestioning faith had saved him at the outset, and, later, habit andprudence. He lingered over his first meeting with Mrs. Hooper. He hadnot thought much of her then, he remembered, although she had appearedto him to be pretty and perfectly dressed. She had come before him as anembodiment of delicacy and refinement, and her charm had increased, ashe began, in spite of himself, to notice her peculiar seductiveness. Recollecting how insensibly the fascination which she exercised overhim had grown, and the sudden madness of desire that had forced him todeclare his passion, he moaned with vexation. If only she had notbeen married. What a fatality! How helpless man was, tossed hither andthither by the waves of trivial circumstance!

She had certainly encouraged him; it was her alternate moods of yieldingand reserve which had awakened his senses. She had been flattered by hisadmiration, and had sought to call it forth. But, in the beginning, atleast, he had struggled against the temptation. He had prayed for helpin the sore combat--how often and how earnestly!--but no help had come. Heaven had been deaf to his entreaties. And he had soon realized thatstruggling in this instance was of no avail. He loved her; he desiredher with every nerve of his body. 

There was hardly any use in trying to fight against such a craving asthat, he thought. But yet, in his heart of hearts, he was conscious thathis religious enthusiasm, the aspiration towards the ideal life and thereverence for Christ's example, would bring about at least one supremeconflict in which his passion might possibly be overcome. He dreaded thecrisis, the outcome of which he foresaw would be decisive for his wholelife. He wanted to let himself slide quietly down the slope; but all thewhile he felt that something in him would never consent thus to endangerhis hopes of Heaven. 

And Hell! He hated the thought! He strove to put it away from him, butit would not be denied. His early habits of self-analysis reassertedthemselves. What if his impatience of the idea were the result ofobdurate sinfulness--sinfulness which might never be forgiven? Hecompelled himself, therefore, to think of Hell, tried to picture it tohimself, and the soft, self-indulgent nature of the man shuddered as herealized the meaning of the word. At length the torture grew too acute. He would not think any longer; he could not; he would strive to do theright. "O Lord!" he exclaimed, as he slipped out of bed on to his knees, "O Christ! help Thy servant! Pity me, and aid!" Yet, while the wordsbroke from his lips in terrified appeal, he knew that he did not wish tobe helped. He rose to his feet in sullen dissatisfaction. 

The happy alertness which he had enjoyed at his waking had disappeared;the self-torment of the last few minutes had tired him; disturbed andvexed in mind, he began to dress. While moving about in the sunlighthis thoughts gradually became more cheerful, and by the time he left hisroom he had regained his good spirits. 

After a short stroll he went into his study and read the daily paper. He then took up a book till dinner-time. He dined, and afterwards forgothimself in a story of African travels. It was only the discomfort of theintense heat which at length reminded him that, though it was now pasttwo o'clock, he had received no letter from Mrs. Hooper. But he wasresolved not to think about her, for thoughts of her, he knew, wouldlead to fears concerning the future, which would in turn force him todecide upon a course of action. If he determined to commit the sin, hisguilt would thereby be increased, and he would not pledge himself torefrain from it. "She couldn't write last night with the Deacon at herelbow all the time, " he decided, and began to read again. Darkness hadfallen before he remembered that he owed an immediate answer to theletter from Chicago. After a little consideration, he sat down and wroteas follows:

 "Dear Brothers in Christ, "Your letter has just reached me. Needless to say it has touched me deeply. You call me to a wider ministry and more arduous duties. The very munificence of the remuneration which you offer leads me to doubt my own fitness for so high a post. You must bear with me a little, and grant me a few days for reflection. The 'call, ' as you know, must be answered from within, from the depths of my soul, before I can be certain that it comes from Above, and this Divine assurance has not yet been vouchsafed to me. 

 "I was born and brought up here in Missouri, where I am now labouring, not without--to Jesus be the praise!--some small measure of success. I have many ties here, and many dear friends and fellow-workers in Christ's vineyard from whom I could not part without great pain. But I will prayerfully consider your request. I shall seek for guidance where alone it is to be found, at the foot of the Great White Throne, and within a week or so at most I hope to be able to answer you with the full and joyous certitude of the Divine blessing. 

 "In the meantime, believe that I thank you deeply, dear Brethren, for your goodness to me, and that I shall pray in Jesus' Name that the blessing of the Holy Ghost may be with you abundantly now and for evermore. 

 "Your loving Servant in Christ, "John P. Letgood. "

He liked this letter so much that he read it over a great many times. It committed him to nothing; it was dignified and yet sufficientlygrateful, and the large-hearted piety which appeared to inform itpleased him even more than the alliteration of the words "born andbrought up. " He had at first written "born and reared;" but in spiteof the fear lest "brought up" should strike the simple Deacons of theSecond Baptist Church in Chicago as unfamiliar and far-fetched, he couldnot resist the assonance. After directing the letter he went upstairs tobed, and his prayers that night were more earnest than they had been oflate--perhaps because he avoided the dangerous topic. The exercise ofhis talent as a letter-writer having put him on good terms with himself, he slept soundly. 

When he awoke in the morning his mood had changed. The day was cloudy;a thunderstorm was brewing, and had somehow affected his temper. As soonas he opened his eyes he was aware of the fact that Mrs. Hooper had notwritten to him, even on Tuesday morning, when she must have beenfree, for the Deacon always went early to his dry-goods store. Theconsciousness of this neglect irritated him beyond measure. He tried, therefore, to think of Chicago and the persons who frequented the SecondBaptist Church. Perhaps, he argued, they were as much ahead of thepeople in Kansas City as Mrs. Hooper was superior to any woman he hadpreviously known. But on this way of thought he could not go far. Thehouses in Chicago were no doubt much finer, the furniture more elegant;the living, too, was perhaps better, though he could not imagine howthat could be; there might even be cleverer and handsomer women therethan Mrs. Hooper; but certainly no one lived in Chicago or anywhere elsein the world who could tempt and bewitch him as she did. She was formedto his taste, made to his desire. As he recalled her, now laughingat him; now admiring him; to-day teasing him with coldness, to-morrowencouraging him, he realized with exasperation that her contradictionsconstituted her charm. He acknowledged reluctantly that her odd turns ofspeech tickled his intellect just as her lithe grace of movement excitedhis senses. But the number and strength of the ties that bound him toher made his anger keener. Where could she hope to find such love ashis? She ought to write to him. Why didn't she? How could he come toa decision before he knew whether she loved him or not? In any case hewould show her that he was a man. He would not try to see her until shehad written--not under any circumstances. 

After dinner and mail time his thoughts ran in another channel. Inreality she was not anything so wonderful. Most men, he knew, didnot think her more than pretty; "pretty Mrs. Hooper" was what she wasusually called--nothing more. No one ever dreamed of saying she wasbeautiful or fascinating. No; she was pretty, and that was all. He wasthe only person in Kansas City or perhaps in the world to whom she wasaltogether and perfectly desirable. She had no reason to be so conceitedor to presume on her power over him. If she were the wonder she thoughtherself she would surely have married some one better than old Hooper, with his lank figure, grey hairs, and Yankee twang. He took a pleasurein thus depreciating the woman he loved--it gave his anger vent, andseemed to make her acquisition more probable. When the uselessness ofthe procedure became manifest to him, he found that his doubts of heraffection had crystallized. 

This was the dilemma; she had not written either out of coquetry orbecause she did not really care for him. If the former were the truereason, she was cruel; if the latter, she ought to tell him so at once, and he would try to master himself. On no hypothesis was she justifiedin leaving him without a word. Tortured alternately by fear, hope, andanger, he paced up and down his study all the day long. Now, he said tohimself, he would go and see her, and forthwith he grew calm--that waswhat his nature desired. But the man in him refused to be so servile. He had told her that she must write; to that he would hold, whatever itcost him. Again, he broke out in bitter blame of her. 

At length he made up his mind to strive to forget her. But what if shereally cared for him, loved him as he loved her? In that case if he wentaway she would be miserable, as wretched as he would be. How unkind itwas of her to leave him without a decided answer, when he could not helpthinking of her happiness! No; she did not love him. He had read enoughabout women and seen enough of them to imagine that they never torturethe man they really love. He would give her up and throw himself againinto his work. He could surely do that. Then he remembered that shewas married, and must, of course, see that she would risk herposition--everything--by declaring her love. Perhaps prudence kept hersilent. Once more he was plunged in doubt. 

He was glad when supper was ready, for that brought, at least for halfan hour, freedom from thought. After the meal was finished he realizedthat he was weary of it all--heart-sick of the suspense. The stormbroke, and the flashing of the lightning and the falling sheets of rainbrought him relief. The air became lighter and purer. He went to bed andslept heavily. 

On the Thursday morning he awoke refreshed, and at once determinednot to think about Mrs. Hooper. It only needed resolution, he said tohimself, in order to forget her entirely. Her indifference, shown in notwriting to him, should be answered in that way. He took up his pocketBible, and opened it at the Gospels. The beautiful story soon exercisedits charm upon his impressionable nature, and after a couple of hours'reading he closed the book comforted, and restored to his better self. He fell on his knees and thanked God for this crowning mercy. From hisheart went forth a hymn of praise for the first time in long weeks. Thewords of the Man of Sorrows had lifted him above the slough. The marvelof it! How could he ever thank Him enough? His whole life should now bedevoted to setting forth the wonders of His grace. When he arose he feltat peace with himself and full of goodwill to every one. He could eventhink of Mrs. Hooper calmly--with pity and grave kindliness. 

After his midday dinner and a brisk walk-->he paid no attention to themail time--he prepared to write the sermon which he intended to preachas his farewell to his congregation on the following Sunday. He wasdetermined now to leave Kansas City and go to Chicago. But as soon as hebegan to consider what he should say, he became aware of a difficulty. He could talk and write of accepting the "call" because it gave him "awider ministry, " and so forth, but the ugly fact would obtrude itselfthat he was relinquishing five thousand dollars a year to accept ten, and he was painfully conscious that this knowledge would be uppermost inthe minds of his hearers. Most men in his position would have easilyput the objection out of their minds. But he could not put it asidecarelessly, and it was characteristic of him to exaggerate itsimportance. He dearly loved to play what the French call _le beaurôle_, even at the cost of his self-interest. Of a sensitive, artistictemperament, he had for years nourished his intellect with good books. He had always striven, too, to set before his hearers high ideals oflife and conduct. His nature was now subdued to the stuff he had workedin. As an artist, an orator, it was all but impossible for him tojustify what must seem like sordid selfishness. He moved about in hischair uneasily, and strove to look at the subject from a new point ofview. In vain; ten thousand dollars a year instead of five--that was tobe his theme. 

The first solution of the problem which suggested itself to him was toexpress his very real disdain of such base material considerations, butno sooner did the thought occur to him than he was fain to reject it. He knew well that his hearers in Kansas City would refuse to accept thatexplanation even as "high-falutin' bunkum!" He then tried to selecta text in order to ease for a time the strain upon his reflectivefaculties. "Feed my sheep" was his first choice--"the largest flockpossible, of course. " But no, that was merely the old cant in new words. 

He came reluctantly to the conclusion that there was no noble way out ofthe difficulty. He felt this the more painfully because, before sittingdown to think of his sermon, he had immersed himself, to use his ownwords, in the fountain-head of self-sacrificing enthusiasm. And now hecould not show his flock that there was any trace of self-denial in hisconduct. It was apparent that his acceptance of the call made a greatsermon an utter impossibility. He must say as little about the mainpoint as possible, glide quickly, in fact, over the thin ice. But hisdisappointment was none the less keen; there was no splendid perorationto write; there would be no eyes gazing up at him through a mistof tears. His sensations were those of an actor with an altogetheruncongenial and stupid part. 

After some futile efforts he abandoned the attempt to sketch out asermon. Some words would come to him at the time, and they would haveto do. In the evening a new idea presented itself to his over-excitedbrain. Might not his dislike of that sermon be a snare set by the Devilto induce him to reject the call and stay in Kansas City? No. A finesermon would do good--the Evil One could not desire that--perhaps evenmore good than his sin would do harm? Puzzled and incapable of theeffort required to solve this fresh problem he went to bed, afterpraying humbly for guidance and enlightenment. 

On the Friday morning he rose from his knees with a burden of sorrow. No kindly light had illumined the darkness of his doubtings. Yet hewas conscious of a perfect sincerity in his desires and in his prayers. Suddenly he remembered that, when in a pure frame of mind, he had onlyconsidered the acceptance of the call. But in order to be guided aright, he must abandon himself entirely to God's directing. In all honesty ofpurpose, he began to think of the sermon he could deliver if he resolvedto reject the call. Ah! that sermon needed but little meditation. Withsuch a decision to announce, he felt that he could carry his hearerswith him to heights of which they knew nothing. Their very vulgarityand sordidness of nature would help instead of hindering him. No one inKansas City would doubt for a moment the sincerity of the self-sacrificeinvolved in rejecting ten thousand dollars a year for five. That sermoncould be preached with effect from any text. "Feed my sheep" even woulddo. He thrilled in anticipation, as a great actor thrills when reading apart which will allow him to discover all his powers, and in which heis certain to "bring down the house. " Completely carried away by hisemotions, he began to turn the sermon over in his head. First of all hesought for a text; not this one, nor that one, but a few words breathingthe very spirit of Christ's self-abnegation. He soon found what hewanted: "For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it; and whosoeverwill lose his life for My sake, shall find it. " The unearthly beauty ofthe thought and the divine simplicity of its expression took the oratorcaptive. As he imagined that Godlike Figure in Galilee, and seemed tohear the words drop like pearls from His lips, so he saw himself in thepulpit, and had a foretaste of the effect of his own eloquence. Ravishedby the vision, he proceeded to write and rewrite the peroration. Everyother part he could trust to his own powers, and to the inspirationof the theme, but the peroration he meant to make finer even than hisapostrophe on the cultivation of character, which hitherto had been thehigh-water mark of his achievement. 

At length he finished his task, but not before sunset, and he felt wearyand hungry. He ate and rested. In the complete relaxation of mentalstrain, he understood all at once what he had done. He had decided toremain in Kansas City. But to remain meant to meet Mrs. Hooper day afterday, to be thrown together with her even by her foolishly confidinghusband; it meant perpetual temptation, and at last--a fall! And yetGod had guided him to choose that sermon rather than the other. He hadabandoned himself passively to His guidance--could _that_ lead to thebrink of the pit?. .. He cried out suddenly like one in bodily anguish. He had found the explanation. God cared for no half-victories. Flight toChicago must seem to Him the veriest cowardice. God intended him to stayin Kansas City and conquer the awful temptation face to face. When herealized this, he fell on his knees and prayed as he had never prayedin all his life before. If entreated humbly, God would surely temper thewind to the shorn lamb; He knew His servant's weakness. "_Lead us notinto temptation_, " he cried again and again, for the first time in hislife comprehending what now seemed to him the awful significance of thewords. "_Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil_"--thus hebegged and wept. But even when, exhausted in body and in mind, he rosefrom his knees, he had found no comfort. Like a child, with streamingeyes and quivering features, he stumbled upstairs to bed and fellasleep, repeating over and over again mechanically the prayer that thecup might pass from him. 

On the Saturday morning he awoke as from a hideous nightmare. Beforethere was time for thought he was aware of what oppressed and frightenedhim. The knowledge of his terrible position weighed him down. He wasworn out and feverishly ill; incapable of reflection or resolution, conscious chiefly of pain and weariness, and a deep dumb revolt againsthis impending condemnation. After lying thus for some time, drinkingthe cup of bitterness to the very dregs, he got up, and went downstairs. Yielding to habit he opened the Bible. But the Book had no message forhim. His tired brain refused, for minutes together, to take in thesense of the printed words. The servant found him utterly miserable andhelpless when she went to tell him that "the dinner was a-gittin' cold. "

The food seemed to restore him, and during the first two hours ofdigestion he was comparatively peaceful in being able to live withoutthinking; but when the body had recovered its vigour, the mind grewactive, and the self-torture recommenced. For some hours--he never knewhow many--he suffered in this way; then a strange calm fell upon him. Was it the Divine help which had come at last, or despair, or thefatigue of an overwrought spirit? He knelt down and prayed once more, but this time his prayer consisted simply in placing before his HeavenlyFather the exact state of the case. He was powerless; God should dowith him according to His purpose, only he felt unable to resist ifthe temptation came up against him. Jesus, of course, could remove thetemptation or strengthen him if He so willed. His servant was in Hishands. 

After continuing in this strain for some time he got up slowly, calm buthopeless. There was no way of escape for him. He took up the Bible andattempted again to read it; but of a sudden he put it down, and throwinghis outspread arms on the table and bowing his head upon them he cried:

"My God, forgive me! I cannot hear Thy voice, nor feel Thy presence. Ican only see her face and feel her body. "

And then hardened as by the consciousness of unforgivable blaspheming, he rose with set face, lit his candle, and went to bed. 

The week had passed much as usual with Mrs. Hooper and her husband. Onthe Tuesday he had seen most of his brother Deacons and found that theythought as he did. All were agreed that something should be done totestify to their gratitude, if indeed their pastor refused the "call. "In the evening, after supper, Mr. Hooper narrated to his wife all thathe had done and all that the others had said. When he asked for heropinion she approved of his efforts. A little while later she turnedto him: "I wonder why Mr. Letgood doesn't marry?" As she spoke she laiddown her work. With a tender smile the Deacon drew her on to his kneesin the armchair, and pushing up his spectacles (he had been reading adissertation on the meaning of the Greek verb {--Greek word--}), said withinfinite, playful tenderness in his voice:

"Tain't every one can find a wife like you, my dear. " He was rewardedfor the flattering phrase with a little slap on the cheek. He continuedthoughtfully: "Taint every one either that wants to take care of awife. Some folks hain't got much affection in 'em, I guess; perhaps Mr. Letgood hain't. " To the which Mrs. Hooper answered not in words, but herlips curved into what might be called a smile, a contented smile as fromthe heights of superior knowledge. 

Mr. Letgood's state of mind on the Sunday morning was too complex forcomplete analysis: he did not attempt the task. He preferred to believethat he had told God the whole truth without any attempt at reservation. He had thereby placed himself in His hands, and was no longer chieflyresponsible. He would not even think of what he was about to do, furtherthan that he intended to refuse the call and to preach the sermon theperoration of which he had so carefully prepared. After dressing he satdown in his study and committed this passage to memory. He picturedto himself with pleasure the effect it would surely produce upon hishearers. When Pete came to tell him the buggy was ready to take him tochurch, he got up almost cheerfully, and went out. 

The weather was delightful, as it is in June in that part of the WesternStates. From midday until about four o'clock the temperature is that ofmidsummer, but the air is exceedingly dry and light, and one breathes itin the morning with a sense of exhilaration. While driving to church Mr. Letgood's spirits rose. He chatted with his servant Pete, and even tookthe reins once for a few hundred yards. But when they neared the churchhis gaiety forsook him. He stopped talking, and appeared to be a littlepreoccupied. From time to time he courteously greeted one of his flockon the side-walk: but that was all. As he reached the church, thePartons drove up, and of course he had to speak to them. After the usualconventional remarks and shaking of hands, the minister turned up thesidewalk which led to the vestry. He had not taken more than four orfive steps in this direction before he paused and looked up the street. He shrugged his shoulders, however, immediately at his own folly, andwalked on: "Of course she couldn't send a messenger with a note. OnSundays the Deacon was with her. "

As he opened the vestry door, and stepped into the little room, he stopped short. Mrs. Hooper was there, coming towards him withoutstretched hand and radiant smile:

"Good morning Mr. Letgood, all the Deacons are here to meet you, andthey let me come; because I was the first you told the news to, andbecause I'm sure you're not goin' to leave us. Besides, I wanted tocome. "

He could not help looking at her for a second as he took her hand andbowed:

"Thank you, Mrs. Hooper. " Not trusting himself further, he began toshake hands with the assembled elders. In answer to one who expressedthe hope that they would keep him, he said slowly and gravely:

"I always trust something to the inspiration of the moment, but Iconfess I am greatly moved to refuse this call. "

"That's what I said, " broke in Mr. Hooper triumphantly, "and I said, too, there were mighty few like you, and I meant it. But we don't wantyou to act against yourself, though we'd be mighty glad to hev youstay. "

A chorus of "Yes, sir! Yes, indeed! That's so" went round the room inwarm approval, and then, as the minister did not answer save with anabstracted, wintry smile, the Deacons began to file into the church. Curiously enough Mrs. Hooper having moved away from the door during thisscene was now, necessarily it seemed, the last to leave the room. Whileshe was passing him, Mr. Letgood bent towards her and in an eager tonewhispered:

"And my answer?"

Mrs. Hooper paused, as if surprised. 

"Oh! ain't you men stupid, " she murmured and with a smile tossed thequestion over her shoulder: "What _did_ I come here for?"

That sermon of Mr. Letgood's is still remembered in Kansas City. It isnot too much to say that the majority of his hearers believed him to beinspired. And, in truth, as an artistic performance his discourse wasadmirable. After standing for some moments with his hand upon the desk, apparently lost in thought, he began in the quietest tone to read theletter from the Deacons of the Second Baptist Church in Chicago. He thenread his reply, begging them to give him time to consider their requestHe had considered it--prayerfully. He would read the passage of HolyScripture which had suggested the answer he was about to send tothe call. He paused again. The rustling of frocks and the occasionalcoughings ceased--the audience straining to catch the decision--whilein a higher key he recited the verse, "For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it; and whosoever will lose his life for My sake, shall findit. "

As the violinist knows when his instrument is perfectly attuned, so Mr. Letgood knew when he repeated the text that his hearers had surrenderedthemselves to him to be played upon. It would be useless here toreproduce the sermon, which lasted for nearly an hour, and altogetherimpossible to give any account of the preacher's gestures or dramaticpauses, or of the modulations and inflections of his voice, which nowseemed to be freighted with passionate earnestness, now quivered inpathetic appeal, and now grew musical in the dying fall of some poeticphrase. The effect was astonishing. While he was speaking simply of thetext as embodying the very spirit of the Glad Tidings which Christ firstdelivered to the world, not a few women were quietly weeping. It wasimpossible, they felt, to listen unmoved to that voice. 

But when he went on to show the necessity of renunciation as the firststep towards the perfecting of character, even the hard, keen faces ofthe men before him began to relax and change expression. He dwelt, inturn, upon the startling novelty of Christ's teaching and its singularsuccess. He spoke of the shortness of human life, the vanity of humaneffort, and the ultimate reward of those who sacrifice themselves forothers, as Jesus did, and out of the same divine spirit of love. Hethus came to the peroration. He began it in the manner of seriousconversation. 

All over the United States the besetting sin of the people was thedesire of wealth. He traced the effects of the ignoble struggle forgain in the degradation of character, in the debased tone of public andprivate life. The main current of existence being defiled, his dutywas clear. Even more than other men he was pledged to resist the eviltendency of the time. In some ways, no doubt, he was as frail and faultyas the weakest of his hearers, but to fail in this respect would be, hethought, to prove himself unworthy of his position. That a servant ofChrist in the nineteenth century should seek wealth, or allow it inany way to influence his conduct, appeared to him to be much the sameunpardonable sin as cowardice in a soldier or dishonesty in a man ofbusiness. He could do but little to show what the words of his textmeant to him, but one thing he could do and would do joyously. He wouldwrite to the good Deacons in Chicago to tell them that he intended tostay in Kansas City, and to labour on among the people whom he knew andloved, and some of whom, he believed, knew and loved him. He wouldnot be tempted by the greater position offered to him or by the largersalary. "_For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; and whosoeverwill lose his life for My sake, shall find it_. "

As his voice broke over the last words, there was scarcely a dry eye inthe church. Many of the women were sobbing audibly, and Mrs. Hooper hadlong ago given up the attempt "to pull her tears down the back way. " Sheexpressed the general sentiment of her sex when she said afterwards, "It was just too lovely for anythin'. " And the men were scarcely lessaffected, though they were better able to control their emotion. Thejoyous renunciation of five thousand dollars a year struck these hardmen of business as something almost uncanny. They would have consideredit the acme of folly in an ordinary man, but in a preacher they feltvaguely that it was admirable. 

When Deacon Hooper met his brother Deacons before the platform where thecollection-plates were kept, he whispered, "The meetin' is at my houseat three o'clock. Be on time. " His tone was decided, as were also thenods which accepted the invitation. 

After the service Mr. Letgood withdrew quietly without going, as usual, amongst his congregation. This pleased even Mrs. Farton, whose husbandwas a judge of the Supreme Court. She said: "It was elegant of him. "

Mr. Hooper received the twelve Deacons in his drawing-room, and when thelatest comer was seated, began:

"There ain't no need for me to tell you, brethren, why I asked you allto come round here this afternoon. After that sermon this mornin' Iguess we're all sot upon showin' our minister that we appreciate him. There are mighty few men with five thousand dollars a year who'd giveup ten thousand. It seems to me a pretty good proof that a man's aChristian ef he'll do that. Tain't being merely a Christian: it'sChrist-like. We must keep Mr. Letgood right here: he's the sort o' manwe want. If they come from Chicago after him now, they'll be comin' fromNew York next, an' he oughtn't to be exposed to sich great temptation. 

"I allow that we'll be able to raise the pew-rents from the first ofJanuary next, to bring in another two thousand five hundred dollars ayear, and I propose that we Deacons should jest put our hands deep downin our pockets and give Mr. Let-good that much anyway for this year, andpromise the same for the future. I'm willin', as senior Deacon, thoughnot the richest, to start the list with three hundred dollars. "

In five minutes the money was subscribed, and it was agreed that eachman should pay in his contribution to the name of Mr. Hooper at theFirst National Bank next day; Mr. Hooper could then draw his cheque forthe sum. 

"Wall, " said the Deacon, again getting up, "that's settled, but I'vedrawn that cheque already. Mrs. Hooper and me talked the thing over, " headded half apologetically, and as if to explain his unbusinesslikerashness; "an' she thinks we oughter go right now to Mr. Letgood as asort of surprise party an' tell him what we hev decided--that is, efyou're all agreed. "

They were, although one or two objected to a "surprise party" being heldon Sunday. But Deacon Hooper overruled the objection by saying thathe could find no better _word_, though of course 'twas really not a"surprise party. " After this explanation, some one proposed that DeaconHooper should make the presentation, and that Mrs. Hooper should beasked to accompany them. When Mr. Hooper went into the dining-room tofind, his wife she was already dressed to go out, and when he expressedsurprise and delivered himself of his mission, she said simply:

"Why, I only dressed to go and see Mrs. Jones, who's ill, but I guessI'll go along with you first. "

The same afternoon Mr. Letgood was seated in his study considering asermon for the evening--it would have to be very different from that ofthe morning, he felt, or else it would fall flat. 

He still avoided thinking of his position. The die was cast now, andhaving struggled hard against the temptation he tried to believe that hewas not chiefly responsible. In the back of his mind was the knowledgethat his responsibility would become clear to him some time or other, but he confined it in the furthest chamber of his brain with repentanceas the guardian. 

He had just decided that his evening address must be doctrinal andargumentative, when he became aware of steps in the drawing-room. Opening the door he found himself face to face with his Deacons. Beforehe could speak, Deacon Hooper began:

"Mr. Letgood! We, the Deacons of your church, hev come to see you. Wewant to tell you how we appreciate your decision this mornin'. It wasChristlike! And we're all proud of you, an' glad you're goin' to staywith us. But we allow that it ain't fair or to be expected that youshould refuse ten thousand dollars a year with only five. So we'vemade a purse for this year among ourselves of two thousand five hundreddollars extry, which we hope you'll accept. Next year the pew-rents canbe raised to bring in the same sum; anyway, it shall be made up. 

"There ain't no use in talkin'; but you, sir, hev jest sot us an exampleof how one who loves the Lord Jesus, and Him only, should act, and weain't goin' to remain far behind. No, sir, we ain't Thar's the cheque. "

As he finished speaking, tears stood in the kind, honest, blue eyes. 

Mr. Letgood took the cheque mechanically, and mechanically accepted atthe same time the Deacon's outstretched hand; but his eyes sought Mrs. Hooper's, who stood behind the knot of men with her handkerchief to herface. In a moment or two, recalled to himself by the fact that one afterthe other all the Deacons wanted to shake his hand, he tried to sustainhis part in the ceremony. He said:

"My dear brothers, I thank you each and all, and accept your gift in thespirit in which you offer it. I need not say that I knew nothing of yourintention when I preached this morning. It is not the money that I'mthinking of now, but your kindness. I thank you again. "

After a few minutes' casual conversation, consisting chiefly of praiseof the "wonderful discourse" of the morning, Mr. Letgood proposedthat they should all have iced coffee with him; there was nothing sorefreshing; he wanted them to try it; and though he was a bachelor, ifMrs. Hooper would kindly give her assistance and help him with hiscook, he was sure they would enjoy a glass. With a smile she consented. Stepping into the passage after her and closing the door, he saidhurriedly, with anger and suspicion in his voice:

"You didn't get this up as my answer? You didn't think I'd take moneyinstead, did you?"

Demurely, Mrs. Hooper turned her head round as he spoke, and leaningagainst him while he put his arms round her waist, answered with archreproach:

"You are just too silly for anythin'. "

Then, with something like the movement of a cat loath to lose thecontact of the caressing hand, she turned completely towards him andslowly lifted her eyes. Their lips met. 

21 April. 1891.