The sermon that follered wuz white and glowin' with the light of Heaven. You could see that _he_ had not been disobedient to that Divine vision that had been revealed to him. The deep sweet look of his eyes told of them supreme heights his own soul had reached. Upliftin', sympathizin', soul searchin', callin' on the best in every heart there to rise up and try to fly Heavenward. His looks and words rousted up my soul and carried me off so fur from the world and Piller Pint, that I lost sight entirely of the crowd around me. But anon I hearn a voice at my side and I see Faith had come back onbeknown to me (she had been in Sister Meechum's tent mendin' a rent in her dress). But when I looked at her I realized how the face of St. Stephen looked. It sez, "His face shone like the face of an angel." Faith's looked jest so, only tears wuz slowly droppin' from her eyes and runnin' down her white cheeks. Sez I, whisperin' to her with or in my axents, "What is it, Faith? What is it, dear? Is it the Power?" I most knew it wuz, and I wuz mekanically turnin' it over in my mind what I should do with her if she fell over prostrate, and where I should lay her out. When she turned, her glowin' awe-struck eyes held a world of joy and glory in each one on 'em. "Yes, it is the Power, the power and goodness of God." And she whispered in blissful axents, "It is Richard, Richard redeemed and working for my Master." I see it all, it wuz the lost lover of her youth, I read it in her face. You could have knocked me down with a clothes-pin aimed by a infant. "How come he here?" sez I in a onbelievin' way. "God sent him!" She whispered. "He sent this blessedness to me, to know his soul is saved, that he is working for Him." I felt queer. That afternoon they met under a ellum tree. He'd found out she wuz there, and asked for a interview, which I see that she granted him. It wuz a pretty spot, clost to the water, with trees of droopin' ellums and some maples, and popples touched with fire and gold. The autumn leaves made a sort of canopy over their heads, and all round 'em wuz the soft melancholy quiet of the fall of the year. He stood there waitin' for her. "Faith!" "Richard!" * * * * * I don't know how long they stood there, her little cold hands held in his big warm palms, his eyes searchin' the dear face and findin' a sacred meanin' in it, and she in hisen. He wuz pale, his voice trembled like the popple leaves overhead, and visey versey hern. The settin' sun glowed warm on the face of the water some as his eyes did, readin' her sweet face, and some of that fire seemed to glow in his deep blue eyes.