ises, they sang
the twenty-third psalm, and Mr. Ansdell led in prayer, adding a fervent
petition that the young pastor might speedily be restored to health.
Then there were some speeches after all. Sim Basketful, who was always
ready, and old Andrew Johnstone, as was his unfailing custom, gave
long, earnest addresses, and they sang the Doxology and went home.

Mrs. Fraser returned just before the assembly broke up with the news
that Mr. Egerton was not ill, but had had a nasty accident. Mr. Watson
said that he had stumbled and fallen when they were running through the
woods, and had cut his face upon a stone. Mrs. Fraser considered it a
mercy that he was not killed. Poor young man! In the midst of life
they were in death, and likely Providence had sent this as a warning to
the young people who were careless about their future state.

Miss Cotton didn't know what in the world the minister wanted to go
tearing through the bush like that for, anyhow. It wasn't very
becoming, she thought, and it was likely if Providence meant any kind
of a warning it was for himself.

VIII

BURSTING OF THE STORM

Duncan Polite stepped out of the little gate one Sabbath afternoon,
late in July, and joined his old friend on his way to Sabbath school.
To-day the service was to be of unusual interest, for Mr. Egerton was
to pay his first visit to the Sabbath school. Though he had been some
months in Glenoro, he had never had such an opportunity before, on
account of the afternoon service at his other charge. But to-day the
service at the Tenth was to be taken by a visiting clergyman, and the
superintendent of the Sabbath school was looking forward grimly to his
pastor's visitation.

A few months previous this event would have been hailed by Duncan as a
blessing from on high, but he had learned to expect much less from his
pastor than in the early days of his ministry. He still hoped and
prayed for great results, for to confess, even to himself, that the
young man was a failure seemed like pronouncing his own doom. Still,
it was being slowly but surely borne in upon him that Mr. McAlpine's
grandson was neither a prophet like his relative nor a shepherd like
his predecessor. Duncan's hopes for his valley were beginning to wane.
What better were they now than four months ago? What better was
Donald? And at the thought of his nephew, Duncan's heart ached. What
was the matter with his boy? Some strange, unpleasant change