Jack tilted his head to one side, and thrust his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in an embarrassed way. Then he looked up, and saw that David was not laughing at him, but soberly awaiting his answer. "Yes, I really would," he answered, decidedly. "Then I'll teach you as long as you are in the office." Mr. Marion came in one day and saw David's dark head and Jack's yellow one bending over the same page, and listened to the boy's enthusiastic explanation of the letters. "I wish we could form a class of our Sabbath-school teachers," said Mr. Marion. "Would you undertake to teach it, Herschel?" The young man hesitated. "If it were convenient I might make the attempt," he said. "But I do not live in the city. My home is out at Hillhollow." Then, after a pause, while some other plan seemed to be revolving in his mind, he asked: "Why not get Rabbi Barthold? He is a born teacher, and nothing would delight him more than to imbue some other soul with a zeal for his beloved mother-tongue." "I'll certainly take the matter into consideration," responded Mr. Marion, "if you will get his consent, and find what his terms are. Bethany, I'll head the list with your name. Then there's Ray and myself. That makes three, and I know at least three of my teachers that I am sure of. I wish George Cragmore were here. Do you know, Bethany, it would not surprise me very much if the Conference sends him here this fall?" "Not in Dr. Bascom's place," she exclaimed. "O no, he is too young a man for Garrison Avenue, and unmarried besides. But I heard that the Clark Street Church had asked for him. I hope the bishop will consider the call." "Don't set your heart on it, Cousin Frank," she answered. "You know what is apt to befall 'the best laid schemes of mice and men.'" CHAPTER X. THE DEACONESS'S STORY. AUGUST slipped into September. The vase on Bethany's desk, that Mrs. Marion had kept filled with lilies, brightened the room with the glow of the earliest golden-rod. "Isn't it pretty?" said Jack, drawing a spray through his fingers. "It makes me think of your hair, sister. They are both so soft and fuzzy-looking." "And like the sunshine," added David mentally, wishing he dared express his admiration as openly as Jack. His desk was at an angle overlooking Bethany's, and he often studied her face while she worked, as he would have studied some rare portrait--not so much for the perfect contour and delicacy of coloring as for the soul that shone through it. She had seldom spoken to him of spiritual things. It was from Jack he learned how interested she was in all her Church relationships. Still he felt forcibly an influence that he could not define; that silent charm of a consecrated life, linked close with the perfect life of the Master.