XXVII. H. ROBINSON AND HIS REVELATION 336 XXVIII. CAPTAIN WHITE'S BALL PLAY 350 XXIX. NEWS OF THE WANDERER 363 XXX. THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER 369 XXXI. H. ROBINSON AGAIN 378 XXXII. A BRANCH CUT OFF 390 XXXIII. THE PURITANS HAVE TRIUMPHED! 406 XXXIV. THE SON OF THE MORNING 418 DEFICIENT SAINTS. CHAPTER I. THE ELECT LADY AND HER DEATH-BOOK. In the dining-room of the old stone Mercer mansion in the town of Rossignol, Me., Mrs. Hippolyta Prymmer, sanctified vessel and uncommon saint, charter member of the church of the United Brethren, chief leader in religious work, and waggishly nicknamed by the ungodly about her "the elect lady," sat looking earnestly at her death-book. This death-book was her never-failing source of interest and chastened entertainment. In it she had enrolled the names of the various friends of whom she had been deprived by death, and for its enlargement and adornment she collected photographs, cuttings from newspapers, and items of information, with an assiduity superior to that of some of her acquaintances, who prepared scrap-books merely for purposes of diversion and amusement. The covers of the book were ornamented with two silver plates engraved with the names and ages of her two deceased husbands,--Sylvester Mercer and Zebedee Prymmer. These plates had been taken from the coffins of the two worthy men before they had been lowered to their graves. Wedged under each plate were locks of hair shorn from the heads of the dead men. Sylvester, according to his coffin plate, had been a man in the prime of life. His lock of hair was soft and brown, while that of Zebedee Prymmer, whose age was given as sixty-five, was stiff and grizzled. Mrs. Prymmer did not quail as her eye ran over these somewhat ghastly souvenirs. She even sighed gently, and with eyes partly closed,--for she nearly knew the contents of the book by heart,--repeated softly some lines addressed to herself, written by Zebedee Prymmer before death, but worded as if they had been penned after his flight to regions above. "Mourn not, oh loved, oh cherished dear, I have no longer foes to fear, From here above, far in the sky, I see the pit wherein they'll lie. "They digged around me in the dust, But Providence sustained the Just, Come soon and join the dear upright, And triumph over sons of spite." Mrs. Prymmer, musing enjoyably over these lines, had her attention distracted by her cat, who was mewing around her feet, turning his sleek face up to her sleek face, and pretending that he thought it was breakfast-time instead of bedtime.