It was Sunday afternoon, a year and a half after this, and St. John had just been preaching his first sermon. Missy's dream of happiness was realized, and her brother was called to Yellowcoats parish--called before he was ordained; and for three months the parish had been waiting patiently for that event, and living upon "supplies." St. John had not wished to come to Yellowcoats, his mother had not wholly desired it, but the fire and force of Missy's will had conquered, and here he was. "I think it's a mistake," St. John had said. "Half the congregation will think I ought to be playing marbles yet, and wearing knickerbockers. Besides, it isn't the kind of work I want." Then his mother had admitted, that it would be a great happiness to have him with her; and Missy had presented to his conscience, in many forms, that place and surroundings were indications of duty. It was not for nothing that he had been born and brought up at Yellowcoats; that there he had family influence, and knowledge of the people with whom he was to deal. Was it not his home? Did he owe any other place as much? And was it nothing that a vacancy had occurred just as he was ready to come? "All the same, I doubt if it is well," he said, and came; for he was young and not self-willed, and the kind of work he wanted had not come before him. He consented to come and try. "But remember, Missy, I do not promise you to stay." Upon one thing he was firm, he would not live at home. The rectory was in tolerable order, and there he was to live, with one servant. He never would be happy unless he were uncomfortable, said his sister; nevertheless, she liked him better for it.