All nature seemed to be resting in a quiet dreamy slumber. The bee had well nigh laid up its winter store, and many of the birds were preparing to leave for more genial climes in the sunny south. All these were but the harbingers of the cold storms that were lingering behind the snow-covered mountains of the north. Indian summer, the season of romance, like the life of a humble Christian, leaves its loveliest scenes to its departing hours. It was in the midst of these balmy days that you might have seen a traveler with a worn satchel in one hand and a staff in the other coming up a narrow lane leading to the home of a prosperous Western settler. He walked slowly, for he had left behind him many weary miles; his countenance, though calm, was pale and languid; yet his eye seemed to bespeak the hope that here he might find the much-needed rest. Two men were standing beside the gate at the end of the lane when the stranger came up. The one was a kindly disposed person with but little force of character, and deficient in moral courage, whom we shall know as Mr. Kerr. The other, whose name was Steele, was the owner of the premises. He was a large man, selfish and resolute, a conceited formalist, bigoted, exceedingly headstrong, and greatly prejudiced against all Christian zeal. No sooner did Mr. Steele notice the approach of the stranger than he turned to Mr. Kerr and exclaimed: “There, I’ll bet you, comes that Sunday-school, temperance loafer I’ve heard so much of lately. I reckon he expects to get in here; but I tell you, sir, my ‘shanty’ don’t hold the like of him, while I’m boss here, ‘that’s said!’” This was uttered with emphatic bitterness. To this passionate outburst Mr. Kerr ventured a little palliation by the remark that he had heard that in the other settlement the people seemed to like the missionary very well. “_You_ would have nothing to do with his nonsense, would you?” retorted Mr. Steele with a look of scorn. “No,” feebly and insincerely muttered Mr. Kerr, “we have got along so far without it, and I guess we can get along without it a little further.” “That’s my ticket,” sharply added Mr. Steele. By this time the stranger had reached the gate. A calm, pleasant smile lit up his pale countenance; and he accosted them with, “Good evening, friends.” “Good evening, sir,” responded Mr. Kerr. “How d’ye do, sir,” thundered out Mr. Steele. “This has been a very pleasant day,” ventured the traveler. “Yes, sir,” curtly replied Mr. Steele. “I am very tired,” continued the stranger; “could I stay with you to-night?” “You are the fellow who goes about lecturing on temperance, and getting up Sunday-schools, aint you?” sarcastically rejoined Mr. Steele, his face reddening. “That is my calling,” meekly added the man of God. “Then you don’t stay all night in my house; I don’t harbor fellows who are too lazy to work,” sneeringly answered the excited Mr. Steele. “But I am very tired, and my head aches badly; I’ll pay you well.”