Here and there, farther off, a flat tombstone was still visible in the tall grass; and over the dust of old Jonathan Gay a high marble cross, selected by his brother's widow, bore the words, unstained by the dripping trees, and innocent of satire: "Here lieth in the hope of a joyful resurrection---" At the end of the service there was a rustle either of relief or disappointment, and the congregation filed slowly through the south doors, where the old grey horse stood resigned and expectant amid the obliterated graves.

Mrs.Gay, who had lingered in the walk to speak to Mr.Mullen, raised her plaintive violet eyes to his face when he appeared.
"You are always so comforting.

I don't know how to thank you for helping me," she murmured, and added impulsively to the little old woman at his side, "Oh, what a blessing such a son must be to you!" "Orlando's never given me a moment's worry in his life, ma'am--not even when he was teething," replied Mrs.Mullen, who looked sharper and more withered than ever in the broad daylight.

"If you'll believe me, he wasn't more than six months old when I said to his father that I could tell by the look of him he was intended for the ministry.

Such sweetness, such self-control even as an infant." "How happy he must make you! And then, to have the privilege of hearing his beautiful sermons! But you'll lose him some day, as I was just saying to Kesiah.