m to elbow
out the wealthiest things of all. The _good_ had become the enemy of the
_best_. Before his heart had been gladdened by those treasures that were
now so dear to him, he had every day _rejoiced in the Lord and joyed in
the God of his salvation_. But not since! His enrichment had proved his
impoverishment! What was it that the preacher had said? 'It is a small
thing to love the _gifts_ as long as you possess the _Giver_; the
supreme tragedy lies in losing the _Giver_ and retaining only the
_gifts_.' And Walter Petherick felt that night that that supreme tragedy
was his.

He rose from his knees, reached for his Bible, and turned once more to
the chapter from which the minister had preached. '_O Lord_,' it began,
'_revive Thy work in the midst of years!_' He himself was '_in the midst
of years_.' The thought brought with it a sense of shame and a rush of
thankfulness. He was _ashamed_ that he had permitted the years that had
gone to filch so much from him. Like waves that strew treasures on the
shore, and snatch treasures from the shore, he felt that the years had
brought much and taken much. Yet he felt grateful that he was still '_in
the midst of the years_'; it is better to discover life's loss at the
halfway house than to find it out at the end of the journey! He returned
the Bible to its place, and, as he did so, he closed his eyes and
repeated for himself the prophet's prayer.

'_O Lord_,' he cried, '_revive Thy work in the midst of the years; in
the midst of the years make known; in wrath remember mercy!_'

It seemed as if the prayer had opened the gates of his soul to the peace
of the night. As he looked again at the glistening river, he felt
strangely soothed and comforted. And, half an hour later, he was
sleeping as restfully as any of his children.

VI

Once more it is a Sunday evening, and once more we are at Twickenham.
For at Twickenham the family have now made their home; they never, after
the Plague Year, resided in the city. More than twelve months have
passed. We last saw them on July 16, 1665; this is Sunday, September 2,
1666. And this Sunday has been as eventful and as memorable as that.
For, just as the family were assembling at the breakfast table, Henry,
the elder of the two boys, burst into the room, exclaiming excitedly:

'Father, the city is on fire!'

It was true! London was one great sea of flame! In the afternoon the
father and the two sons drove as far as the Borough; it w