"Doctor," said Mrs. Barton, extending her hand to him, "you do not understand. We are rejoicing, and this is just our poor woman's way of doing it." "I see, I see," said the jovial Doctor. "Well, now wipe away your tears, and give God all glory. He has sent me, a poor weak mortal, simply as a messenger to administer that which will save you from a loathsome disease and death. All glory be unto Him." He then began singing softly and reverently, the others joining: "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform, He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs. And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head." "And now, Mrs. Barton, you must come out and see the chariot in which the Lord sent us," cried Dr. Jones gayly. The poor invalid stood in the door and looked up at the great globe that shimmered and glistened like burnished silver in the rays of the setting sun. How proudly and serenely it rode above their heads as if conscious of its own unparalleled beauty, and its blessed mission in this present instance. She gazed upon it a few moments in speechless rapture, her poor emaciated hands clasped upon her breast. "This is too marvelous for me," she cried. "What am I that God should send deliverance to me in so glorious and majestic a ship of the skies! I am lost in wonder and praise. Glory be to His holy name forever and forever." "Amen!" responded the listeners fervently. The canoe party returned at four o'clock, P.M. All were tired and ready to sit about the generous fire; for evening was at hand, and the air was already sharp and frosty. "And how did it happen, Mr. Barton, that you came to settle away up in this barren wilderness?" asked Professor Gray.