erty he possessed and making her independent for the rest
of her life. She had taken it, listened in silence to the kindly
expressions that accompanied the gift, and turned away without a word.
Now she was gone; what could it mean?

Slowly he made the simple preparations that were needed for the
journey--putting a little food, his Bible, and other necessaries into
a kind of knapsack and strapping it upon his back. Then taking his
staff, he went out from his home, never to return.

The sun was rising, the air was fresh and dewy, but his heart was sad.
Yet through it ran a strange thrill of joy, a strange blending of pain
and gladness.

"The parting is bitter, bitter almost unto death, but He will keep
me," murmured the white lips, as he went down the walk.

The sound of voices fell on his ears, and he looked up. At the gate,
awaiting him, was a group of his parishioners, who had come to look
once more on the face of their pastor. One by whose bedside he had
prayed in the hour of sickness; another, whom his counsel had saved
when direly tempted; a little lame child, who loved him for his
kindness; and an aged, dim-sighted woman, to whom he had often read
the Scriptures.

He opened the gate and came out among them.

"God bless you, sir," said the old woman, "we wanted to see your bonny
face again before you left us."

The little lame boy said nothing, but came up to Cecil, took his hand,
and pressed it to his cheek in a manner more eloquent than words.

"Friends," said Cecil, in a faltering voice, "I thank you. It is very
sweet to know that you care for me thus."

One by one they came and clasped his hand in tearful farewell. For
each he had a loving word. It was an impressive scene,--the
sorrow-stricken group, the pastor with his pale spiritual face full of
calm resolve, and around them the solemn hush of morning.

When all had been spoken, the minister reverently uncovered his head;
the others did the same. "It is for the last time," he said; "let us
pray."

After a few earnest words commending them to the care of God, he drew
his hand gently from the lame boy's cheek and rested it on his head in
silent benediction. Then giving them one last look of unutterable
love, a look they never forgot,--

"Good-by," he said softly, "God bless you all."

"Good-by, God bless _you_, sir," came back in answer; and they saw his
face no more.

One more farewell was yet to be said. The winding path led close by
the cou