ew feet away from him,
happy, careless, prosperous, arrogant, having his own way by hook or
crook. The clock struck the half-hour. The store would be closed six.

Arthur started back to the hotel. What did he care when the store
closed? It was nothing to him. At the corner of Rosser and Eighth
Street some Salvation Army people were holding a meeting, and as he
passed through the crowd the tinkle of their cymbals in a familiar
tune came to his ear. Then a dozen voices, clear and distinct, broke
into singing:

If some poor wandering child of Thine,
Has spurned to-day the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.

It brought him back to the old life at home, this dear old hymn of
his childhood, with its old-fashioned, monotonous tune, and it
awakened in his consciousness the voices he was trying hard to
silence. A light shone in upon him and showed him a straight path, a
hard road, set with thorns, which he must follow. The colour suddenly
went from Arthur's face as he realized which way the path of honour
led.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live.

sang the Army, while Arthur, pale and trembling on the outer edge of
the crowd, leaned against a lamppost for support. He did not hear the
words they were singing, but the old tune beat into heart and brain
the memories of his home and childhood. He saw his father's saintly
face, proud and strong, unstained by any compromise with evil, and it
called to him across the sea to play the man.

The Army had sung the hymn all through, and now they were kneeling in
prayer; a thin-voiced girl led the petitions, while the others,
frequently interjected exclamations of thanksgiving. Arthur did not
hear a word of it, but into his troubled heart there came peace and
the strength of God, which alone is able to make a man swear to his
own hurt.

He walked rapidly back to the store he had left and asked to see Mr.
Smeaton. Mr. Smeaton had his hat and coat on, about to leave the
store, but he came back, and, taking Arthur into his office, offered
him a chair.

Arthur remained standing, and, without speaking, gave the young man a
searching glance. What he saw was a muscular young fellow, of about
his own age, with clear gray eyes and curling brown hair. He was
faultlessly dressed, and had an unmistakably straightforward
expression and countenance.

"What can I do for you?" the young merchant as