rch found conditions in the spiritual state of Miss Philura which
necessitated earnest and prolonged admonition; at all events, the sun
was sinking behind the western horizon when the reverend gentleman
slowly and thoughtfully made his way toward the parsonage. Curiously
enough, this highly respectable domicile had taken on during his absence
an aspect of gloom and loneliness unpleasantly apparent. "A scarlet
geranium in the window might improve it," thought the vaguely
dissatisfied proprietor, as he put on his dressing-gown and thrust his
feet into his newest pair of slippers. (Presented by Miss Electa Pratt
"to my pastor, with grateful affection.")

"I believe I failed to draw Miss Philura's attention to the obvious
relation between faith and works," cogitated the reverend Silas, as he
sat before his lonely hearth, placidly scorching the soles of his new
slippers before the cheerful blaze. "It will be altogether advisable, I
think, to set her right on that point without delay. I will--ah--just
look in again for a moment to-morrow afternoon."

* * * * *

"God's purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour.
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower!"

sang the choir of the Innisfield Presbyterian Church one Sunday morning
a month later. And Miss Philura Rice--as was afterward remarked--sang
the words with such enthusiasm and earnestness that her high soprano
soared quite above all the other voices in the choir, and this despite
the fact that Miss Electa Pratt was putting forth her nasal contralto
with more than wonted insistence.

The last-mentioned lady found the sermon--on the text, "Little children,
love one another, for love is of God"--so extremely convincing, and her
own subsequent spiritual state in such an agitated condition, that she
took occasion to seek a private conversation with her pastor in his
study on that same Sunday afternoon.

"I don't know _when_ I've been so wrought up!" declared Miss Pratt, with
a preliminary display of immaculate handkerchief. "I cried _and cried_
after I got home from church this morning. Ma she sez to me, sez she,
'What ails you Lecty?' And I sez to ma, sez I, 'Ma, it was that
_blessed_ sermon. I don't know _when_ I ever heard anything like it!
That dear pastor of ours is just ripening for a better world!'" Miss
Electa paused a moment to shed copious tears over this statement. "It
does seem to me, _dear_ M