There you have it! But I might have known. Cortez, if it _was_ Cortez, could not have guessed the Pacific. He had nothing to suggest it. But I might have guessed the singleness of the church's work. What is my name for, unless I can appreciate the man who said 'The world is my parish,' and who would do anything--sell books, keep a savings bank, open a dispensary--for the sake of saving souls? That's the single idea, the simple idea. It makes all these queer activities part of one great activity; and rests them all on one under-girding truth--'The Church's one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord.' But the wonderful thing to me is that, after all this time, I should suddenly have found this out for myself! "What a story to take home to Delafield! Pastor Drury is going to have the surprise of his life!" * * * * * Three people met J.W. as his train pulled in to the station at Delafield. The other two were his father and mother. After the first tearfully happy greetings, J.W. looked around the platform. "I rather thought Brother Drury might have come too," he said. The others exchanged meaning glances, and his father asked, "Then you didn't get my second letter at San Francisco?" "No," said J.W., in vague alarm, "only the one. What's wrong? Is Mr. Drury--" "He's at home now, son," said the elder Farwell, gravely. "He came home from our Conference hospital at Hillcrest two weeks ago. We hope he's going to gain considerable strength, but he's had some sort of a stroke, we don't rightly know what, and he's pretty hard hit. He's better than he was last week, but he can't leave his room; sits in his easy chair and doesn't say much." J.W.'s heart ached. Without always realizing it, he had been counting on long talks with the pastor; there was so much to tell him. And especially so since that wonderful day out in the middle of the Pacific, when he had seen what he even dared to call his 'vision' of the church. So he said, "You and mother drive on home; I'll walk up with Jeannette." For lovers who had just met after a year's separation these two were strangely subdued. They had everything to say to each other, but this sudden falling of the shadow of suffering on their meeting checked the words on their lips. "Will he get better?" J.W. asked Jeannette. "They fear not," she answered. "The doctors say he may live for several years, but he will never preach again. He just sits there; he's been so anxious to see you. You must go to-day." "Of course. And what shall I say about the wedding? If he can't leave his room----" Jeannette interrupted him: "If he can't leave his room, it will make no difference. Church wedding or home wedding I should have chosen, as I have told you; but you and I, John Wesley, are going to be married by Walter Drury, wherever he is, if he's alive on our wedding day."