He was a tall, athletic man, spare and strong, such an one as you would choose from a crowd to endure and do to the uttermost, for whatever was dear to him. Happily the thing dear above all others to the stout soul of Caleb Field, was the Evangel of Jesus Christ in the simplicity of its unassisted might. “Thy kingdom come,” was the continual prayer of his life--spoken in words, morning and night, as the strong current of his days flowed on; but graven in deeds hour by hour upon his history, and upon every span of earth he trod on. “For the Lord’s sake,” Caleb Field, praying, preaching, scheming, struggling, like a good soldier taking no rest, had labored all his days. The father and the daughter were alone in the narrow pass of the hills. “Edith,” said the minister, gravely, “I have somewhat to say to you.” He paused. He had been in great haste to make the communication, whatever it was, and yet he hesitated now. “Yes, father.” “We are alone in the world, Edith,” said her father, dwelling on the words with a sad cadence in his voice. “We two, alone--and earthly comfort I have sought none else, thou knowest, since thy mother left thee in my arms; yet, Edith, there is One demanding closer service from me than thou canst, and better love from thee than I can. For His sake, and for his royal and holy cause I must go forth again--Edith, at peril of my life--at peril of leaving thee, a helpless orphan maiden in this inclement world, alone. What sayest thou?” She clasped his arm with a tremulous, clinging motion--she looked up wistfully into his face. “Father, what is this? tell me.” “It is the last trial,” said the Puritan; “heretofore I have been ever in danger, living so much a life of peril that I heeded it not--perchance, Edith, that I gave not due thanks for manifold and oft deliverance; but now this last peril into which I go, is sure, as men say, and parts not with its victim. As men say--it is not for me, a servant of Him who ruleth all things, to think that any created desolation carries in it certain fate; but where he sends this scourge of His anger, there straightway departs all hope. Edith, I am lingering on these words, thou seest--I would have thee make up thy mind to this, and yet I would not. It is hard to part with thee, my little one! and yet--for the Lord’s sake, Edith, bid thy father God-speed. If I leave thee alone, He is yet with thee.” “Father,” exclaimed Edith Field, “you speak to me in parables, what is this? You can trust me, father; I am ready to bear any thing--to do any thing; father, you can trust me.”