Now, no one would thank me to tell in full the story of that evening's service. Matthey Haley surpassed himself. He had listened, I thought, with some impatience to my father's discourse, which he based, somewhat unfeelingly I thought, on the cryptic saying of Ecclesiastes: "Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof." I was in a chastened mood, and listened meekly enough even to Matthey's ranting, which usually jarred upon my feelings. But I was learning be-times that most difficult of all lessons: to be indulgent of the weaknesses of others; to all their faults a little blind; to all their virtues very kind. And though, to be sure, Matthey, when in full blast, did rave and roar as though indeed his God was "either talking, or he was pursuing, or he wag on a journey, or peradventure he slept and must be awaked;" yet I doubt not his God, as he conceived him, a sort of magnified man to be flattered, cajoled, and entreated, was to Matthey a very real Being, and Matthey's religion to him a very real and living thing. I had looked forward all the day to accompanying my father and the girls at least a part of the way home to Pole Moor; but at the close of the service Mrs. Wrigley was good enough to ask my father to allow Miriam to stay for a week or two at Holly Grove, adding that she had formed the highest estimate of my loved one's graces of mind and heart, and hoped a little change from the routine of Pole Moor might be all to her benefit. To this my father willingly assented; so that instead of journeying over Stanedge with Miriam by my side, her little hand stealing into mine in the friendly cover of the night, I turned my face to Wrigley Mill Fold with only Mary as my companion. No need to say where Jim was.