David sat with his long legs crossed, his chin resting in his hand and his eyes on the spatter-work motto--“Keep an even mind under all circumstances”--above his desk. He thought of 'Thusia Fragg and her attraction and of his duty to himself and to his church, considering everything calmly. He had felt a growing antagonism without understanding it. As he thought he forgot Benedict. His hand slid upward, and his fingers entangled themselves in his curly hair. He sat so for many minutes. “Thank you, Benedict,” he said at length. “I understand. I am through with 'Thusia!” “Mind you,” drawled Benedict, “I say nothing against the girl. I helped her into the world, Davy. I've helped a lot of them into the world. It is not for me to help them through it. When I put them in their mothers' arms my work is done.” “I know what you mean,” said David. “If her mother had lived 'Thusia might have been different. But does that concern me, Benedict?” “It does not,” grinned the old doctor. “How long have you been calling her 'Thusia, Davy?” “My first duty is to my church,” said David. “A minister should be above reproach in the eyes of his people.” “That hits the nail on the head, fair and square,” said Benedict. “You're right every time, Davy. How long have you been calling her 'Thusia?” “I am not right every time, Benedict,” said David, arising and walking slowly up and down the floor, his hands clasped behind him, “but I am right in this. You are wrong when you allow yourself, even for a day, to fall into a state in which you cannot be of use to your sick when they call for you, and I would be wrong if I let anything turn my people from me, for they need me continually. My ministry is more important than I am. If my right hand offended my people I would cut it off. I have been careless, I have been thoughtless. I have not paused to consider how my harmless chance meetings with Miss Fragg might affect my work. Benedict, a young minister's work is hard enough--with his youthfulness as a handicap--without--” “Without 'Thusy,” said Benedict. “Without the added difficulties that come to an unmarried man,” David substituted. “The sooner I marry the better for me and for my work and for my people.” “And the sooner I'll be chased out of this easy-chair for good and all by your wife,” said Benedict, rising, “so, if that's the way you feel about it--and I dare say you are right--I'll try a sample of absence and go around and see how Mrs. Merkle's rheumatism is amusing her. Well, Davy, invite me to the wedding!”