t
one."

"If I should consent," the other man said, after a silence during which,
with bent white head, he studied the matter, "what would be your part?
Should you attempt--" he glanced at the clerical dress of his caller--
"to carry through the service of your--Church?"

Sewall's face, which had been grave, relaxed. "No, Mr. Blake," said
he. "It wouldn't be possible, and it wouldn't be--suitable. This is a
community which would probably prefer any other service, and it should
have its preference respected. A simple form, as nearly as possible like
what it has been used to, will be best--don't you think so? I believe
there is to be considerable music. I will read the Story of the Birth,
and will try to make a prayer. The rest I will leave to you."

"And Him," added the old man.

"And Him," agreed the young man, reverently. Then a bright smile broke
over his face, and he held out his hand. "I'm no end grateful to you,
sir," he said, a certain attractive boyishness of manner suddenly coming
uppermost and putting to flight the dignity which was at times a heavier
weight than he could carry. "No end. Don't you remember how it used to
be, when you first went into the work, and tackled a job now and then
that seemed too big for you? Then you caught sight of a pair of
shoulders that looked to you broader than yours--the muscles developed
by years of exercise--and you were pretty thankful to shift the load on
to them? You didn't want to shirk--Heaven forbid!--but you just felt you
didn't know enough to deal with the situation. Don't you remember?"

The old man, with a gently humorous look, glanced down at his own thin,
bent shoulders, then at the stalwart ones which towered above him.

"You speak metaphorically, my dear lad," he said quaintly, with a kindly
twinkle in his faded blue eyes. He laid his left hand on the firm young
arm whose hand held his shrunken right. "But I do remember--yes, yes--I
remember plainly enough. And though it seems to me now as if the
strength were all with the young and vigorous in body, it may be that
I should be glad of the years that have brought me experience."

"And tolerance," added William Sewall, pressing the hand, his eyes held
fast by Elder Blake's.

"And love," yet added the other. "Love. That's the great thing--that's
the great thing. I do love this community--these dear people. They are
good people at heart--only misled as to what is worth standing out for.
I would see them at