To all such the conscientious husband dutifully replied, "thankful for his Rachel's expression of interest in such a sinner as himself, and trusting that she would not forget that health or the comforts of this world were but of comparatively small importance, since this was 'not our abiding city.' He trusted, too, that she would not allow the transitory affections of this life, _however dear they might be_, to engross her to the neglect of those which were _far more_ important. He permitted himself to hope that Rachel" (he was chary of endearing epithets) "would not murmur against the dispensations of Providence, and would be content with whatever He might provide; and hoping that Mr. Handby and family were in their usual health, remained her Christian friend and devoted husband, Benjamin Johns." It so happened, that, after this discursive life had lasted for some ten months, a serious difficulty arose between the clergyman and the parish of the neighboring town of Ashfield. The person who served as the spiritual director of the people was suspected of leaning strongly toward some current heresy of the day; and the suspicion being once set on foot, there was not a sermon the poor man could preach but some quidnunc of the parish snuffed somewhere in it the taint of the false doctrine. The due convocations and committees of inquiry followed sharply after, and the incumbent received his dismissal in due form at the hands of some "brother in the bonds of the Gospel." A few weeks later, Giles Elderkin of Ashfield, "Society's Committee," invited, by letter, the Reverend Benjamin Johns to come and "fill their pulpit the following Lord's day"; and added,--"If you conclude to preach for us, I shall be pleased to have you put up at my house over the Sabbath." "There you are," said Mr. Handby, when the matter was announced in family conclave,--"just the man for them. They like sober, solid preaching in Ashfield." "I call it real providential," said Mrs. Handby; "fust-rate folks, and 't a'n't a long drive over for Rachel." Little Mrs. Johns looked upon the grave, earnest face of her husband with delight and pride, but said nothing. "I know Squire Elderkin," says Mr. Handby, meditatively,--"a clever man, and a forehanded man, very. It's a rich parish, son-in-law; they ought to do well by you." "I don't like," says Mr. Johns, "to look at what may become my spiritual duty in that light." "I wouldn't," returned Mr. Handby; "but when you are as old as I am, son-in-law, you'll know that we have to keep a kind of side-look upon the good things of this world,--else we shouldn't be placed in it." "_He_ heareth the young ravens when they cry," said the minister, gravely. "Just it," says Mr. Handby; "but I don't want your young ravens to be crying." At which Rachel, with the slightest possible suffusion of color, and a pretty affectation of horror, said,-- "Now, papa!"