Behind these rocks swelled up gently a slope, half pasture, half woodland--neither open ground nor forest; but, although clear enough for comfortable walking, studded pretty closely with trees that often interlaced their branches overhead, and made great, pillared aisles, among whose shade, in summer, wound delicious little footpaths that all came out together, midway up, into--what you shall be told of presently. Here, among and beyond the rocks, were oaks, and pines, and savins--each needle-like leaf a shimmering lance--each clustering branch a spray of gems--and the stout, spreading limbs of the oaks delineating themselves against the sky above in Gothic frost-work. Suddenly--before they thought it could be so near--they came up and out into a broader opening. Between two rocks that made, as it were, a gateway, and around whose bases were grouped sentinel evergreens, they came into this wider space, floored with flat rock, the surface of a hidden ledge, carpeted with crisp mosses in the summer, whose every cup and hollow held a jewel now--and inclosed with lofty oaks and pines, while, straight beyond, where the woods shut in again far closer than below, rose a bold crag, over whose brow hung pendent birches that in their icy robing drooped like glittering wings of cherubim above an altar. All around and underneath, this strange magnificence. Overhead, the everlasting Blue, that roofed it in with sapphire. In front, the rough, gigantic shrine. "It is like a cathedral!" said Faith, solemnly and low. "See!" whispered Glory, catching her companion hastily by the arm--"there is the minister!" A little way beyond them, at the right, out from among the clumps of evergreen where some other of the little wood walks opened, a figure advanced without perceiving them. It was Roger Armstrong, the new minister. He held his hat in his hand. He walked, uncovered, as he would have into a church, into this forest temple, where God's finger had just been writing on the walls. When he turned, slowly, his eye fell on the other two who stood there. It lighted up with a quick joy of sympathy. He came forward. Faith bowed. Glory stood back, shyly. Neither party seemed astonished at the meeting. It was so plain _why_ they came, that if they had wondered at all, it would have been that the whole village should not be pouring out hither, also. Mr. Armstrong led them to the center of the rocky space. "This is the best point," said he. And then was silent. There was no need of words. A greatness of thought made itself felt from one to the other. Only, between still pauses, words came that almost spoke themselves. "'Eye hath not seen, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, that which God hath prepared for them that love him.' What a commentary upon His promise is a glory like this! "'And they shall all shine like the sun in the kingdom of my Father!'"