On Sunday they would all, or nearly all, go to church; and it was a strange thing that a little community, numbering less than one hundred, men, women and children all counted, should include so many religious sects; for here were to be found Catholics, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists and Baptists. I think that was all; for of finer sub-divisions of doctrine or opinion they knew nothing, and a more Christian community than the people of this plantation, notwithstanding their sectarian differences, could scarcely be found anywhere. And this was owing, in a great measure, to the teachings and example of their master—a pure Christian. He was accustomed to say to them: “By whatever sectarian name you choose to call yourselves matters little; be Christian. ‘The disciples were called Christians first at Antioch.’ ‘For there is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved but that of Christ.’” Old ’Sias being asked one day by a stranger as to his religious faith and experience answered that he was Christian, and his law of life was love of God and his neighbor. The people loved their master well. Not one left him when emancipation was proclaimed. Even the young men, who longed to see life, would not leave old master while he should live on earth. Old Cleve was the friend, teacher and patriarch of his people. Never in his life, however, had the old man been so happy as at present. The society of Stuart, Palma and their babies opened new springs of joy in his heart and home. He loved to spend hours reclining in his easy-chair on the piazza, with the young mother seated near him and the infants in their pretty basket cradle beside her, while Mrs. Pole would be looking after household affairs within, and Stuart would be supervising agricultural matters afield. The twins were little more than two months old when John Cleve saw, or thought he saw, a growing likeness between the tiny Clarice and the angel for whom she was named. As for him, he was waiting the call to come and rejoin his own Clarice in one of the many mansions of our Father’s house. Nor was the summons long delayed. It was a lovely morning in May. The vale was more like than ever to a Garden of Eden. It was a chalice full of bloom, fragrance and music lifted up in offering to Heaven. Stuart was absent on horseback, riding from field to field, overlooking the workmen. All the other members of the family were gathered on the front porch. Mrs. Pole, with a pair of shears in her hands, was walking about the place, carefully clipping a few dead leaves from the rose vines that climbed about the pillars. She had taken to gardening with as much enthusiasm as Stuart had taken to farming. Palma sat on a little, low chair, busy with her needlework. At her feet stood the pretty basket cradle in which lay the twin babes, sleeping.