raders.

A prominent man in this remarkable church was Deacon John Callendar.
He had been one of its first members, and it was everything to his
heart that Jerusalem is to the Jew, or Mecca to the Mohammedan. He
believed his minister to be the best and wisest of men, though he was
by no means inclined to allow himself a lazy confidence in this
security. It was the special duty of deacons to keep a strict watch
over doctrinal points, and though he had never had occasion to dissent
in thirty years' scrutiny, he still kept the watch.

In the temporal affairs of the church it had been different. There was
no definite creed for guidance in these matters, and eight or ten men
with strong, rugged wills about L, _s_., _d_., each thinking highly of
his own discretion in monetary affairs, and rather indifferently of
the minister's gifts in this direction, were not likely to have always
harmonious sessions.

They had had a decidedly inharmonious one early in January of 184-,
and Deacon Callendar had spoken his mind with his usual blunt
directness. He had been a good deal nettled at the minister's
attitude, for, instead of seconding his propositions, Dr. Morrison had
sat with a faraway, indifferent look, as if the pending discussion was
entirely out of his range of interest. John could have borne
contradiction better. An argument would have gratified him. But to
have the speech and statistics which he had so carefully prepared fall
on the minister's ear without provoking any response was a great trial
of his patience. He was inwardly very angry, though outwardly very
calm; but Dr. Morrison knew well what a tumult was beneath the dour
still face of the deacon as he rose from his chair, put on his plaid,
and pulled his bonnet over his brows.

"John," he said kindly, "you are a wise man, and I aye thought so. It
takes a Christian to lead passion by the bridle. A Turk is a placid
gentleman, John, but he cannot do it."

"Ou, ay! doubtless! There is talk o' the Turk and the Pope, but it is
my neighbors that trouble me the maist, minister. Good-night to ye
all. If ye vote to-night you can e'en count my vote wi' Dr.
Morrison's; it will be as sensible and warld-like as any o' the lave."

With this parting reflection he went out. It had begun to snow, and
the still, white solitude made him ashamed of his temper. He looked up
at the quiet heavens above him, then at the quiet street before him,
and muttered with a spice of satisfaction,