haken off, as had happened so many times when fitting words
had been spoken in his hearing before. They were for him, too, as well
as for the rest--more than for the rest, he said to himself, and they
would not be put away.

As was the custom in these country places at that time, there was a long
pause after the sermon was over. The coffin was opened, and one after
another went up and looked on the face of the dead, and it seemed to
David that they would never be done with it, and he rose at last and
went out of doors to wait for his father there. It was but a few steps
to the grave-yard, and the people stood only a minute or two round the
open grave. Then there was a prayer offered, and poor old Tim was left
to his rest.

"`Poor old Tim,' no longer," said David to himself, when they were
fairly started on their homeward way again. "Happy Tim, I ought to say.
I wonder what he is doing now! He is one of `the spirits of just men
made perfect' by this time. I wonder how it seems to him up there,"
said David, looking far up into the blue above him. "It does seem past
belief. I can't think of him but as a lame old man with a crutch, and
there he is, up among the best of them, singing with a will, as he used
to sing here, only with no drawbacks. It _is_ wonderful. Think of old
Tim singing with John, and Paul, and with King David himself. It is
queer to think of it!"

He had a good while to think of it, for his father was silent and
preoccupied still. It had often happened before, that his father being
busy with his own thoughts, David had to be content with silence, and
with such amusement as he could get from the sights and sounds about
him, and he had never found that very hard. But he had not been so much
with him of late because of Frank's visit, and he had so looked forward
to the enjoyment he was to have to-day, that he could not help feeling a
little aggrieved when half their way home had been accomplished without
a word.

"Papa," said he, at last, "I wish Frank had been here to-day--to hear
your sermon, I mean."

"I did not know that Frank had an especial taste for sermons," said his
father, smiling.

"Well, no, I don't think he has; but he would have liked that one--about
the Christian warfare, because we have been speaking about it lately."

And then he went on to tell about the reading on Sunday night, and about
Hobab and all that had been said about the "good warfare" and "the whole
armour,"