s as she read them.

Then over in Ephesians her eye caught a verse that just seemed to fit
that poor blind minister:

Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of
God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness
of their heart.

And yet he was set to guide the feet of the blind into the way of life!
And he had looked on her as one of the ignorant. Poor fellow! He
couldn't know the Christ who was her Saviour or he never would have
spoken in that way about Him. What could such a man preach? What was
there left to preach, but empty words, when one rejected all these
doctrines? Would she have to listen to a man like that Sunday after
Sunday? Did the scholars in her school, and their parents, and the young
man out at the camp, and his rough, simple-hearted companions have to
listen to preaching from that man, when they listened to any? Her heart
grew sick within her, and she knelt beside her bed for a strengthening
word with the Christ who since her little childhood had been a very
real presence in her life.

When she arose from her knees she heard the kitchen door slam
down-stairs and the voice of Bud calling his mother. She went to her
door and opened it, listening a moment, and then called the boy.

There was a dead silence for an instant after her voice was heard, and
then Bud appeared at the foot of the stairs, very frowning as to brow,
and very surly as to tone:

"What d'ye want?"

It was plain that Bud was "sore."

"Bud,"--Margaret's voice was sweet and a bit cool as she leaned over the
railing and surveyed the boy; she hadn't yet got over her compulsory
ride with that minister--"I wanted to ask you, please, next time you
can't keep an appointment with me don't ask anybody else to take your
place. I prefer to pick out my own companions. It was all right, of
course, if you had to go somewhere else, but I could easily have gone
alone or waited until another time. I'd rather not have you ask Mr. West
to go anywhere with me again."

Bud's face was a study. It cleared suddenly and his jaw dropped in
surprise; his eyes fairly danced with dawning comprehension and
pleasure, and then his brow drew down ominously.

"I never ast him," he declared, vehemently. "He told me you wanted him
to go, and fer me to get out of the way 'cause you didn't want to hurt
my feelings. Didn't you say nothing to him about it at all this
morning?"

"No, indeed!" said Margaret,