here, as they strike
you." And she added, slowly: "You are a queer minister. You have not
offered to pray with me!"

"I feel," I told her, "more like asking you to pray for me."

Relief continued her analysis. "You have not told me that my affliction
was a visitation from God," she added; "that it was discipline and well
for me I had it."

"I don't believe it was from God," I said. "I don't believe God had
anything to do with it. And I rejoice that you have not let it wreck
your life."

She pressed my hand. "Thank you for saying that," she murmured. "If I
thought God did it I could not love Him, and if I did not love Him I
could not live. Please come and see me VERY often--and tell me stories!"

After that I collected stories for Relief. One of those which most
amused her, I remember, was about my horse, and this encourages me to
repeat it here. In my life in East Dennis I did not occupy the lonely
little parsonage connected with my church, but instead boarded with a
friend--a widow named Crowell. (There seemed only two names in Cape Cod:
Sears and Crowell.) To keep in touch with my two churches, which were
almost three miles apart, it became necessary to have a horse. As Mrs.
Crowell needed one, too, we decided to buy the animal in partnership,
and Miss Crowell, the daughter of the widow, who knew no more about
horses than I did, undertook to lend me the support of her presence and
advice during the purchase. We did not care to have the entire community
take a passionate interest in the matter, as it would certainly have
done if it had heard of our intention; so my friend and I departed
somewhat stealthily for a neighboring town, where, we had heard, a very
good horse was offered for sale. We saw the animal and liked it; but
before closing the bargain we cannily asked the owner if the horse was
perfectly sound, and if it was gentle with women. He assured us that it
was both sound and gentle with women, and to prove the latter point
he had his wife harness it to the buggy and drive it around the
stable-yard. The animal behaved beautifully. After it had gone through
its paces, Miss Crowell and I leaned confidingly against its side,
patting it and praising its beauty, and the horse seemed to enjoy our
attentions. We bought it then and there, drove it home, and put it in
our barn; and the next morning we hired a man in the neighborhood to
come over and take care of it.

He arrived. Five minutes later a frightful ra