morning, the day after the minister had called. "It is strange what a
difference knowing persons makes in the way you feel toward them. The
minister was as cordial and friendly as Doctor Meldrum used to be in
Ridgeville. Wonder how he found out about me? I didn't know he'd ever
heard of me or noticed me in the congregation."

Old Jimmy made no reply, although he longed to say: "He came because
I sent for him, buddy, as people ought to do. They are quick enough
to send for a doctor when their bodies are sick, but when they are
out of sorts either physically or mentally they never think of
letting their minister know. They hang back and feel hurt if he
doesn't come, just as if he could tell by intuition or a sort of
sixth sense that he's needed. How can a D. D. be expected to know
when you want him, any more than an M. D.?"

That afternoon as Alec sat propped up by the window for a little
while, looking down on the snowy street, there was a knock at the
door. Old Jimmy, answering it, came back with a florist's box
addressed, "Mr. Alec Stoker, with best wishes and sympathy of the
Grace Church Christian Endeavour Society." Inside was a fragrant
bunch of hothouse roses.

Alec held them up in amazement. "Why should they have sent them to
me?" he cried. There was no Endeavour society in Ridgeville, and he
did not understand its methods.

"The flower committee sends 'em to all the sick people in the
congregation," explained Jimmy. "Posies and piety always sorter go
together, seems like. Pretty, ain't they? But they ain't half so
pretty as the young ladies that brought 'em."

"Young ladies!" gasped Alec, looking toward the door.

"Yes, the flower committee itself, I suppose. I didn't know two of
them. But one of them you ought to know, buddy, seeing as it's the
daughter of your boss. Thomas Windom's daughter--Avery, I believe
they call her."

Alec's heart gave a thump. Avery Windom was the pretty girl he had
written to Flip about; the one whom he had wanted of all others to
know; and she had climbed to his door, had left the roses; it seemed
too strange to be true.

He leaned toward the window and looked down. Yes, there she went with
her friends, fluttering along the snowy street. He could see the
gleam of her soft, light hair under her velvet hat. Her cheeks were
flushed with her walk in the cold. He leaned eagerly nearer the
window as she fluttered along, farther and farther down the street,
until she was lost in