s! It's impossible! He is half
sick now. What does old Mr. Jerrold want?" Mrs. Sanford said, sharply;
and Sam replied, as he shook down another mass of snow upon the carpet:

"Don't know; the Sacrament, mebby, as I guess he's going to die," and
the boy advanced a step or two into the warmly lighted room, where the
rector, who had risen to his feet, was beginning to divest himself of
his dressing-gown.

"Stay back; you have brought snow enough into the hall without spoiling
the parlor carpet, too," Mrs. Martha said, angrily; then, going to her
husband, whose purpose she divined, she continued; "Charles, are you
crazy, to think of going out in this storm?"

"But, my dear," the rector began, meekly, "if the poor old man is
dying--and Hannah would never have sent in such a storm unless she
thought so--if he is dying and desires the comfort of the communion,
shall I refuse it to him because of a little inconvenience to myself?
No, no; I have not so learned Christ. Please bring me my coat, Martha,
and my boots, and the little communion service."

"A pretty time of day to think of that, just as the candle is burned to
the snuff," Mrs. Martha retorted. "Here for years you have exhorted and
entreated him to be confirmed, and he has resisted all your appeals with
the excuse that for him to go to the Lord's table would be a mortal sin;
and now, just at the last, in such a storm, he sends for you. I consider
it an insult to his Creator and to you, too."

"Will you please bring my coat and boots and things? I can never quite
find them myself," was all the rector said, and knowing that further
opposition was useless, Mrs. Martha went in quest of the boots and
overshoes, and coat and overcoat and muffler, and fur cap and mittens,
and heavy shawl, in which she enveloped her husband, lamenting that
there was not ready a hot soap-stone for his feet, which were sure to
suffer.

But the little man did not need the soap-stone; he had the warmest,
kindest, most unselfish heart that ever beat in a human breast, and
never thought of the storm, as he waded through the deep snow and took
his seat beside Burton Jerrold in the sleigh, which Sam drove rapidly
toward the farm-house in the pasture.

CHAPTER IX.

THE HORROR AT THE FARM-HOUSE.

When Hannah reached home the gray November afternoon was already merging
into the dark night, which was made still darker by the violence of the
increasing storm, and never had Hannah's home s