ssip. Of course, the gossip straightway led to a
demand to be brought down to date in Opdyke's history, a demand which
concerned itself quite as much with the technique of mining as it did
with the more personal aspects of an engineering life and of the final
accident. They reached that in course of time, however; and Reed told
his tale willingly and without too much reservation, grateful alike for
the sympathetic interest and comprehension it evoked in Brenton, and
for the half-dozen downright words with which Brenton spoke his
sympathy.

"Of course," he added thoughtfully, his eyes on Opdyke's face; "it's
bound to be all sorts of a bore for a man like you to be lying up, to
say nothing of the waste of time for your profession, and of the purely
personal issue of the aches of it. However, I can't be altogether sorry
for the chance that strands you here in the edge of my own puddle. I
mean to have all the good of you, while you're in range. You remember
how the boys used to call me Reed's parson?"

Reed laughed.

"You knew it at the time? I must say you had the trick of looking
totally unconscious. Well, it's your turn now. Going, man? Sorry you
must; but you'll be coming in again, to-morrow? No; hang it all! You're
a parson, and to-morrow is Sunday."

To-morrow was Sunday, and the first one in the month. That meant three
services for Brenton, plus a Bible class at noon. Nevertheless, between
the services, he contrived to drop in for a look at Opdyke; not that
the look, taken as itself, was needful. All that morning long, and a
good share of the night before, there had not left him the picture of
the long, straight figure on the couch, and of the face above it, the
same face he recalled so well, and yet so curiously altered,
strengthened. The picture never left him; it was most distinct of all,
while, with an unwonted throb in his voice, he slowly read from the
open book before him,--

"Thou dost not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men--In Thy
wisdom Thou hast seen fit to visit him with trouble--"

Wisdom! Thy wisdom. Brenton's mind lingered on the words, even after
his tongue had passed on to the closing phrases of the prayer. Thy
wisdom? Yes. But what especial wisdom, what ineffable and divine
purpose lay behind the swift blow which had knocked into prostrate
helplessness a man such as Reed Opdyke? Was it quite honest and
above-board for him himself, Scott Brenton, to kneel there in the
chancel, pr