He began to mend at last, and then the patient wife's strength gave way to some extent. I well remember her making a great effort to get outside Mr. Barr's room door, and then sinking down in a faint on the landing. She had made it to save him the shock of seeing her fall. My heart ached for them all, and for the first time I grieved over my own poverty. Mrs. Barr said rest would put her all right again, but rest seemed as unattainable as many other things for the mother at Hillstowe Vicarage, though she took care that nothing should disturb her husband's quiet. "His life means the children's bread," she said. "It is of far more consequence than mine." To us who looked on, and mourned that we could do no more or better, it was hard to tell which life was more precious to all concerned. The vicar was gaining strength and talking of beginning his pastoral work again, though the doctor protested against it, and said Mr. Barr must go away for a time first. The vicar's doctor was not the only medical man who orders the unattainable for his patients, and knows he is doing it. But at this time, friends came forward and presented a well-lined purse to Mr. Barr, together with loving allusions to his past labours and hearty wishes for his future health. Then poor Mrs. Barr's face brightened, a temporary curate was engaged, husband and wife went to Devonshire for a month, and returned a fortnight before Christmas, with renewed strength and thankful hearts. They say that troubles never come-singly, and it happens now and then that the rule holds good with regard to blessings. A couple of years before that, the bishop had held a confirmation at Hillstowe, and, as his custom was, had preferred the simple hospitality of the vicar to that of a wealthy neighbour. Mr. and Mrs. Barr had not entertained their right reverend guest with stories of difficulties and trials, or complained of their many olive branches and few pounds per annum, or shown him long faces. On the contrary, they had just been their good, true selves, and had made him as comfortable as possible, without going out of their way. The bishop had departed with pleasant words of farewell and thanks for Mr. and Mrs. Barr's hospitality; and there, as was thought, the matter ended. It did not, however. The bishop remembered Hillstowe, made his calculations, and wished, vainly for the time, that he could give Mr. Barr a better living. Then he heard of his illness and recovery, and then, too, came the bishop's opportunity. Immediately after the vicar's return, a letter arrived in the diocesan's own handwriting, offering him a living, worth eight hundred a year, in another county. There was joy and sorrow, both in-doors and out, at the news. Joy for the vicar's sake, sorrow that he would be lost as the pastor of Hillstowe. I was nearly wild with delight. I did not know at first that this change would mean separation from the Barrs.