dge turned a slow look upon him. He was seated on the shady
porch, his feet on the railing, a Chicago daily paper in his lap. He
said very gravely: "Mrs. Brown, our boy is going to church."

"Can't you let him, Mr. Brown? It'll do him good, maybe," said Mrs.
Brown, who was at work near the window.

"Goes to see the girls. Know all about it myself. Go ahead, young man,
and remember the text now, or we'll put a stop to this"--Bradley went
off down the walk. He passed by a tiny little box of a house where a
man in his shirt sleeves was romping with some children.

"Hello, Milton," called Bradley cheerily.

The young man looked up. His face flashed into a broad smile. "Hello!
Brad Talcott, by thunder! Well, well. When'd you get back?"

"Last night. Yours?" he inquired, nodding toward the children.

"Yep. Well, how are you, old man? You look well. Couldn't fool me with
that beard. Come in and sit down, won't yeh?"

"No, I'm on my way to church. Can't you come?"

"Great Caesar, no! not with these young hyenas to attend to." He had
grown fat, and his chin beard made him look like a Methodist minister;
but his sunny blue eyes laughed up into Bradley's face just as in the
past. "Say!" he exclaimed, "you struck it with the old Judge, didn't
you? He's goin' to run you for governor one of these days. County
treasurer ain't good enough for you. But say," he said, as a final
word, "I guess you'd better not wear that suit much; it's too soft
altogether. Stop in when you come back. Eileen'll be glad to see you,"
he called after him.

The audience had risen to sing as he entered, and he took his place
without attracting much attention. As he stood there listening to the
familiar Moody and Sankey hymn, there came again the touch of awe which
the church used to put upon him. He was not a "religious" man. He had
no more thought of his soul or his future state than a powerful young
Greek. His feeling of awe arose from the association of beauty, music,
and love with a church. It was feminine, some way, and shared his
reverence for a beautiful woman.

The churches of the town were the only things of a public nature which
had any touch of beauty or grace. They were poor little wooden boxes at
best; and yet they had colored windows, which seemed to hush the
dazzling summer sun into a dim glory, transfiguring the shabby
interior, and making the bent heads of the girls more beautiful than
words can tell. It was the one place which was