He was a slender, undersized man, not more than thirty years old; but mental and physical suffering had drawn deep lines upon his thin, sallow face, and sprinkled threads of gray in his hair. His features would have looked hard and forbidding had they not been softened by the strong, patient endurance religion had brought to him. Throughout the length and breadth of Laurel Cove he was respected and loved. He belonged to the Cove; the encircling chain of mountains marked the boundaries of his life; for he was a hopeless cripple, walking ever with slow, halting steps, and with a staff to aid him. He had never been a lusty, vigorous youth, but one of unusual intelligence and ambition. It was a grievous blow to all his plans of life when a falling tree lamed him. It was a long time before he could walk, even with a crutch, and years before he laid the crutch aside for a stick. Active labor would never again be possible for him; but not liking to be dependent on his neighbors for charity, he plied the trade of a shoe-mender, and while he worked he read and meditated on the Bible—the only book he possessed, except a Webster’s _Speller_ and a small arithmetic. It was no wonder that so much reading and solitary thinking on religious themes should inspire him with the desire to preach. His tongue seemed loosened; he rose in "meetin’," and exhorted the people. His eloquence amazed them; his fervor, his deep sincerity impressed even the callous-hearted. His physical infirmity also appealed to them, and it was not long before he became the pastor of the church in Laurel Cove. He had no more education than his parishioners, so far as text-books were concerned: but his spiritual discernment gave him a power marvelous to them. He did a great deal of good, but one thing he had set his heart on he failed to do; he could not make peace between the Hurds and the Hardings. Both men sat under his teachings in church and listened to his exhortations outside, and both loved him; but they would not be friends with each other. When Sam Harding died Sile tried to influence old Killus Hurd to extend the hand of peace to the widow; but he stubbornly refused, and the preacher gave it up. Now that a fresh quarrel had come he knew not what to say or do, particularly as his own feelings were so deeply involved. He had watched Sarah Betsy bloom into womanhood, delighting in her beauty and even admiring the girlish coquetry of her ways. He had never cherished any definite hopes of marrying her; what woman would like a cripple for a husband? but as long as she did not show any preference among her beaux he was satisfied. Now he knew why she smiled on all alike. It was because she secretly loved John Hurd, and not because she was heart-free. A cruel, jealous pang pierced the heart of the preacher, and a wave of rebellion, savage in its fierceness, swept over him. Why could he not have the love of