himself much credit. It seemed quite a relief to him when his
visitors arose to go, and he politely bowed them to the door.

"If any man leads an easy life, Mr. Corlis does," muttered Chester, as
they went through the little gate.

"Hush, boy!" said his father, good-humoredly. "You can't expect a
minister to go into the fields, to work with his hands."

"I don't say what I expect him to do; but I can tell pretty well what he
does. During the week, he compiles commonplaces, which he calls sermons,
drinks tea with his parishioners, and patronizes the sewing-circle. On
the Sabbath he certainly labors hard, preaching dulness from the high
pulpit, and mesmerizing his congregation."

"What do you talk such nonsense for?" returned Mr. Royden, laughing
inwardly.

"Young men learn the ministers' trade, in order to live lazy lives,
half the time," continued the young man.

"Too often--too often!"--Father Brighthopes shook his head sadly,--"but
judge not all by the few. Idleness is a sore temptation to young
clergymen, I know. Their position is fraught with peril. Alas for those
who prefer their own ease to doing their Master's work! This consists
not only in preaching Christianity from the pulpit, but in preaching it
in their daily walks; in acting it, living it, carrying it like an
atmosphere about them, and warming with its warmth the hearts of the
poor and sorrowful. O, Lord, what a lovely and boundless field thou has
given thy servants! Let them not lie idle in the shade of the creeds our
fathers planted, nor cease to turn the soil and sow the seed!"

The earnest prayer thrilled the hearts of Chester and his father. It may
be another heart was touched with its fire. Mr. Corlis overheard the
words, as he listened at his study-window, and his cheek and forehead
glowed with a blush of shame.

Mr. Royden and Chester took their old friend to make one or two more
calls, and returned home for dinner. Samuel Cone felt very faint, as he
lay on the grass in the yard, and saw them coming.

IX.

MARK, THE JOCKEY.

"What have you run away from that churn for?" cried Mrs. Royden,
appearing at the door. "Go right back, and fetch the butter before you
leave it again!"

"I'm tired," muttered Sam.

"Don't tell me about being tired! You can churn just as well as not."

"Hurts my foot!"

"You can lay your foot on a chair, and----Do you hear?" exclaimed Mrs.
Royden, growing impatient of his delay. "Don't let me have to