ice from Heaven. When he
had finished I took him home with me, gave him food and a new coat, and
left him sleeping. I want you to come over, and be sure to bring Hope.
She must sing for us.'

'Mr Brower will be tired out, but perhaps the young people may go,' she
said, looking at Hope and me.

My heart gave a leap as I saw in Hope's eyes a reflection of my own joy.
In a moment she came and gave her mother a sounding kiss and asked her
what she should wear.

'I must look my best, mother,' she said.

'My child,' said the elder, 'it's what you do and not what you wear
that's important.'

'They're both important, Elder,' said my foster mother. You should teach
your people the duty of comeliness. They honour their Maker when they
look their best.'

The spirit of liberalism was abroad in the sons of the Puritans. In
Elizabeth Brower the ardent austerity of her race had been freely
diluted with humour and cheerfulness and human sympathy. It used to be
said of Deacon Hospur, a good but lazy man, that he was given both to
prayer and profanity. Uncle Eb, who had once heard the deacon swear,
when the latter had been bruised by a kicking cow, said that, so far
as he knew, the deacon never swore except when 'twas necessary. Indeed,
most of those men had, I doubt not, too little of that fear of God in
them that characterised their fathers. And yet, as shall appear, there
were in Faraway some relics of a stern faith.

Hope came out in fine feather, and although I have seen many grand
ladles, gowned for the eyes of kings, I have never seen a lovelier
figure than when, that evening, she came tripping down to the buggy. It
was three miles to the white Church, and riding over in the twilight I
laid the plan of my life before her. She sat a moment in silence after I
had finished.

'I am going away, too,' she remarked, with a sigh.

'Going away!' I said with some surprise, for in all my plans I had
secretly counted on returning in grand style to take her back with me.

'Going away,' said she decisively.

'It isn't nice for girls to go away from home,' I said.

'It isn't nice for boys, either,' said she.

We had come to the church, its open doors and windows all aglow with
light. I helped her out at the steps, and hitched my horse under the
long shed. We entered together and made our way through the chattering
crowd to the little cloakroom in one corner. Elder Whitmarsh arrived in
a moment and the fiddler, a short, stout, st