"He has a hankering after a pulpit. I do not want one." "But will your creed be respectable without a pulpit?" "I have no creed." "Ian!" "Except the commandment that we love God and do unto others as we would like them to do unto us. Love is the fulfilling of the whole law. If this creed does not satisfy you, Jessy----" "Oh, you know, Ian, I can abandon my creed at any time, but I shall carry my prejudices into eternity." Thus discussing, in Jessy's various moods, their old religious differences, they came finally to the end of their journey, and found the Major waiting to receive them at the Buchanan Street railway station. He had ordered a feast to honor their arrival, and the men who prepared it--not knowing for whom it was prepared--cooked it badly and served it in slovenly fashion. The next morning they all went away forever, and three clever, active girls reigned in their stead. Then Jessy, the happy-tempered bringer of the best out of the worst, was satisfied; and the Major knew he would have a home to live in, and Ian, always fastidiously fond of order and quiet, was sure his domestic life would fill every necessity of his public work. This work was progressing in spite of various delays, and at the end of the following year the beautiful building was fully ready for use. It was filled as soon as opened. Doubtless, curiosity had something to do with the crowded services; yet Ian was already much beloved among all classes and conditions of men and women, for the love of God, which filled and influenced his whole life, attracted to him the love of all who met him. Many remembered him as a haughty cleric, full of learning, and not very approachable, even to his own congregation. But this new Ian was always smiling and kindly, ready to cure the wounded and heal the sick and to give with love and sympathy all the consolations that flow from the reality of heavenly things. The opening of the new church was a great day in Glasgow. There was not even standing room for one more worshiper, and when Ian saw a large contingent from the old Church of the Disciples present he was very happy. And as he looked at them his face shone with love and they saw it as the face of a Man of God. Tender and inspiring was the sermon he preached that day, and one sentence in it went--no one knew how--the length and breadth of Scotland. Yea, before it had been spoken half an hour there came to him testimony that it had begun its mission. For, as he was walking leisurely down Sanchiehall Street, Bailie Muir, an old class-mate at St. Andrews, joined him. "O man! man!" he cried in an exultant voice, "I bless you for some words you said to-day! I have been longing to hear them, though I knew not until this morning what I wanted." "And you know now, Bailie?"