“I never graduated, you know; I never even attended a Cesarea Anniversary in my life (and you can’t think how it shocked the Trustees at dinner, and _that_ was such fun, so I kept on not going!), and I can’t be expected to fathom these matters. Anyhow, it is mixed up with the Authenticity of the Fourth Gospel, and the Effect of German Rationalism upon the Evangelical Faith. It is a reason full of capital letters and Orthodoxy,--and go he will. He won’t leave mother behind, for he is one of the men who believe in living with their wives; he’s just as dependent on his womenkind when he’s engaged in a theological row, as a boy who’s got hurt at football; and I’ve got to go to take care of the two of them. So there it is! I think there is a convention in Berlin--an Exegetical Something--anyhow, there’s a date, and live up to it we must. He has sublet the Flying Jib to the Prudential Committee of the A. B. C. F. M.--I mean to one of it, with six grandchildren. Think how they’ll punch their fists through our lace curtains! I wish you’d go down and tell Mr. Salt they shan’t have my dory. Couldn’t you manage to use it yourself? And I--I can’t take Joey Slip to the circus, nor sit down in sackcloth on the ashes of Christlove Chapel to help you. “Truly, dear friend, I _meant_ to help this summer. And I am disappointed, if you care to know it. “Yours faithfully, “HELEN CARRUTH. “I forgot to say that father has doubled up his lectures, and the Trustees have given him the whole summer term. This, I believe, is in view of the importance of the quarrel over the Fourth Gospel. We sail in the Scythia a week from Saturday.” * * * * * It was early afternoon of the next day, when Helen, standing in her window to draw the shades, glanced over automatically at the third-story northwest corner front of Galilee Hall. The room had long since been occupied by a middler with blue spectacles and a peaked beard; a long-legged fellow, who was understood to be a Hebrew scholar, and quite Old School, and was expected to fill a large parish without offending the senior deacon. Privately, Helen hated the middler. But the eye that had learned to wander at sunset across the Seminary “yard” to the window blazing in gold and glory, had slowly unlearned the lesson of its brief and pleasant habit. Even yet, on blue-white winter days, when life stood still to freeze on Cesarea Hill, Helen found herself drearily looking at the glittering glass--as one looks at the smile on a face from which the soul has fled. It was still many hours to sunset, and the early April afternoon fell gustily and gray upon the snows of Cesarea. It was not a sunny day, and Cesarea was at her worst. Helen idly watched a figure splashing through two feet of slush “across lots” over the Seminary grounds from the Trustees’ Hotel.