“You wrote me once that you thought of being a minister,” she added. “Why did you change your mind? It must be splendid, I think, to be a young clergyman—invited to so many tea-drinkings, and having all the girls in the parish after you, as they always are after unmarried ministers.” Into Morris Grant’s eyes there stole a troubled light as he thought how little Katy realized what it was to be a minister of God—to point the people heavenward and teach them the right way. There was a moment’s pause, and then he tried to explain to her that he hoped he had not been influenced either by thoughts of tea-drinkings or having the parish girls after him, but rather by an honest desire to choose the sphere in which he could accomplish the most good. “I did not decide rashly,” he said, “but after weeks of anxious thought and prayer for guidance I came to the conclusion that in the practice of medicine I could find perhaps as broad a field for good as in the church, and so I decided to go on with my profession—to be a physician of the poor and suffering, speaking to them of Him who came to save, and in this way I shall not labor in vain. Many would seek another place than Silverton and its vicinity, but something told me that my work was here, and so I am content to stay, feeling thankful that my means admit of my waiting for patients, if need be, and at the same time ministering to the wants of those who are needy.” Gradually, as he talked, there came into his face a light born only from the peace which passeth understanding, and the awe-struck Katy crept closer to his side and grasping his hand in hers, said softly, “Dear cousin, what a good man you are, and how silly I must seem to you, thinking you cared for tea-drinkings, or even girls, when, of course, you do not.” “Perhaps I do,” the doctor replied, slightly pressing the warm, fat hand holding his so fast. “A minister’s or a doctor’s life would be dreary indeed if there was no one to share it, and I have had my dreams of the girls, or girl, who was some day to brighten my home.” He looked fully at Katy now, but she was thinking of something else, and her next remark was to ask him rather abruptly “how old he was?” “Twenty-six last May,” he answered, while Katy continued, “You are not old enough to be married yet. Wilford Cameron is thirty.”