we came to worship
with you."

A grave smile touched the dark face.

"You rightly interpreted its message," he said. "Let me repeat its
welcome."

"We are Americans, at least my daughter and I are," said Mr. Howland,
presenting Paula, a frank smile upon her beautiful face, "and this is
her young friend from London, Miss Vincent, and these young officers are
of the Canadian army."

"Canadians!" exclaimed the minister, meeting them with both hands. "Oh,
you are indeed welcome."

"We are all in the war, sir, I would have you know," added Mr. Howland.

The minister looked puzzled.

"Let me explain," said Barry. "Mr. Rowland and his daughter are on leave
from their own hospital which they have set up in France. Miss Vincent
is from the base hospital in Boulogne."

Like the sun breaking upon the loch in a dull day, a smile broke over
the dark face. He threw the gate wide open.

"In the name of my country, in this its dark hour, let me give you
welcome," and once more he shook them each by the hand. "We have still
half an hour before worship," he continued. "Pray do me the honour of
entering my manse."

They followed him up the shrubbery-flanked gravel walk to the door.

"Enter," he said, going before them into the manse. "Jean! Jean!" he
called.

"Yes, dear," came a voice like the sound of a silver bell, and from
another room issued a lady with a face of rare and delicate loveliness.
Her soft, clinging black gown, with a touch of white at her throat,
served to emphasise the sweet purity of her face, but cast over it a
shade of sadness at once poignant and tender.

"My dear, this is Mrs. Robertson," he said simply; "these friends,
Americans and Canadians, are from the war."

At that word she came to greet them, her face illumined by a smile
inexpressibly sweet, but inexpressibly sad. "You are welcome, oh, very
welcome," she said, in a soft Scotch voice. "Come in and rest for a few
moments."

"Our young friend here, Captain Dunbar, is chaplain of a distinguished
Canadian regiment."

"They are all distinguished," said the lady.

"A chaplain?" said the minister. "My dear sir, we should be grateful for
a message for our people from the front--"

"Oh, yes, if you would," added his wife.

"But," protested. Barry, "I want to hear some one else preach. One
gets very tired of one's own preaching, and besides I'm a very poor
preacher."

"I'll take that risk, but I will not press you," said the minister
court