“No one says so who knew the man. He certainly had what many of us have not, the Christian spirit of love and helpfulness, which made him the friend of everybody. But, mother, even if he was as wrong as you think him, it is time to forgive him now. I wish you would do a kind thing for me. Do you care for me in the least, my mother?” “You know that I care for no one but you, John.” “Then do me this kindness. Everybody will be calling on Miss Miller in this her time of trouble. Will you not call too?” “That girl! How dare you ask me!” Mrs. Hunter started up in her fury, and her eyes blazed forth on her son. Then followed a string of invectives, and even of curses, such as made John shudder. As he looked and listened, a great fear entered his heart. Surely his mother must be going mad! It was impossible in any other way to account for her rage and hate. She was in a frightful passion; her face was ghastly, her hands clutched each other, and there was such a baleful light in her eyes that John was grieved beyond expression. He tried to quiet her, but it was of no use, and presently he forced her into her own room that the servants might not hear her ravings. Poor John! “There is more trouble coming to me,” he said, and he was right. It is only natural that there should be sorrow when a good man dies; the world cannot afford to lose him, and the people feel in a sense orphaned. At Darentdale they had never seen such a day in the memory of the oldest inhabitant as that of the funeral of Henry Harris. Every shop was closed, every window had its blind down. No arrangement was made for a public funeral; but the people obeyed the impulses of their own hearts, and the highest and the lowest showed their sorrow in every possible way. The whole village stood around the grave, and sobbed forth its grief. Positively the only persons who held aloof were Mrs. Hunter and Mr. William Hunter. The Vicar held a service in the church; he was visibly affected as it proceeded, for he felt that he had lost a friend. At the grave the service was most impressive; and there was a ring of certainty in the Vicar’s voice as he pronounced the words which seemed to him to carry more meaning than ever now. “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.” The service did not close without earnest words to those who felt themselves bereaved, urging them to carry on the good work which Harris had begun, and to copy his character—a character which, the Vicar declared, must have been founded on the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ.