“There’d be a way open if my grandfather knew,” said Archie, slowly. “He’s been aye ready to urge me to the step since I was a bit of a lad, and he would help me.” “Then go and ask your father’s blessing and start forth, and may the Lord of Hosts go with you.” Archie went home with so serious a face that his father noticed it as the boy came into the workshop and stood before him. “What fashes ye, lad?” he asked. “Are ye in trouble?” “No trouble now, father. I’ve been to see the meenister.” “Ay, and what then?” “He thinks I have a call. I’ve felt it this long while, and--father, shall I go?” Joseph M’Clean was silent for a moment. Archie was the apple of his eye; to part from the lad would be such pain as he could scarcely bring himself to face; but the ministry--Like Abraham of old, if the Lord demanded the sacrifice, he was ready to give it, so on the altar of his affections he laid his first-born, saying in a broken voice, “The Lord be with you, my son; if it is his will, I cannot deny ye to Him.” And the undemonstrative Scot drew the boy close and folded his arms about him. “I’ll not deny it’s hard to part from ye, Archie, my lad,” he said in a shaking voice. “But it’ll not be for always, father. I beeta to come back here, maybe.” “Ay, maybe.” “Grandfather will help me.” “He will, and be proud to do it. He was ever at me to encourage ye in the notion. Ye’ll go straight to him, Archie, and tell him I sent ye. Now go tell your mither.” Between her pride in the prospect of her boy’s becoming a minister and her sorrow at parting with him, Mrs. M’Clean had many tears to shed, but she said nothing to dissuade him from his purpose, and he went forth from her presence comforted. It was of Agnes that he next thought, and that evening he took his way to her home. It was late when he reached there for the winter days were still short. A golden light gleamed coldly through the trees, and shone through the door striking Agnes’s auburn hair with a glory as she opened to the lad’s knock. “Ah, come in,” she said, pleased at sight of him. “I’m glad of company, for Polly is doing the milking, father and Mr. Willett are off hunting, and the bairns and I are all alone. Draw up by the fire.” Archie followed her to the fireside and seated himself on the settle. He looked around the bare, homely little room, at the children playing about the floor, and lastly at Agnes herself. When would he be seeing all this again? What changes would take place before he should return to this country, raw and new and full of dangers and makeshifts? A lump arose in his throat, and he turned his eyes to the fire, gazing into its glowing centre till he should recover his speech. Agnes felt that something unusual was in the wind. She watched him for a few minutes before she said, saucily, “You’ve lost your tongue, Archie, the little you have.” He started and faced her, blurting out: “I’m going away. I’m going back to Carlisle.”