alth and sickness I hope I shall ever continue with the
same sincerity, your loving brother,
John Wesley.

From Samuel Wesley to his son John

April 17, 1726.
Dear Son,--I hope Sander will be with you on Wednesday morn,
with the horses, books, bags, and this. I got your mother to
write the inclosed (for you see I can hardly scrawl), because it
was possible it might come to hand on Tuesday; but my head was
so full of cares that I forgot on Saturday last to put it into
the post-house. I shall be very glad to see you, though but for
a day, but much more for a quarter of a year. I think you will
make what haste you can. I design to be at the "Crown," in
Bawtry, on Saturday night. God bless and send you a prosperous
journey to your affectionate father,
Samuel Wesley.

The day after receiving this John and Charles set out and rode down
to Lincolnshire together.

CHAPTER XIV.

"For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will
also forgive you: but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither
will your Father forgive your trespasses."

John Wesley laid his Bible down beside him on the rustic seat under
the filbert-tree, and leaned back against the trunk with half-closed
eyes. By and by he frowned, and the frown, instead of passing, grew
deeper. His sermons, as a rule, arranged themselves neatly and
rapidly, when once the text was chosen: but to-day his thoughts ran
by fits and starts, and confusedly--a thing he abhorred.

In truth they kept harking back to the text, "For if ye forgive men
their trespasses. . . ." He had chosen it with many searchings of
heart, for he knew that if he preached this sermon it would
exasperate his father. Had he any right, knowing this, to preach it
from his father's pulpit? After balancing the _pro's_ and
_contra's_, he decided that this was a scruple which his Christian
duty outweighed. He was not used to look back upon a decision once
taken: he had no thought now of changing his mind, but the prospect
of a breach with his father unsettled him.

While he pondered, stabbing the turf with his heel, Molly came
limping along the garden-path. Her face was white and drawn.
She had been writing for two hours at her father's dictation, and
came now for rest to the seat which she and He