“Take care, Frederick,” said his mother. “The Scriptures are not to be treated like common books and subjected to human criticism.” “We must find out what they mean, I suppose, mother,” said the youth. “You’re to take just the plain meaning that he that runneth may read,” answered his mother.--“More than that no one has any business with. You’ve got to save your own soul first, and then the souls of your neighbours if they will let you; and for that reason you must cultivate, not a spirit of criticism, but the talents that attract people to the hearing of the Word. You have got a fine voice, and it will improve with judicious use. Your father is now on the outlook for a teacher of elocution to instruct you how to make the best of it, and speak with power on God’s behalf.” When the afternoon of Wednesday began to draw towards the evening, there came on a mist, not a London fog, but a low wet cloud, which kept slowly condensing into rain; and as the hour of meeting drew nigh with the darkness, it grew worse. Mrs Marshal had forgotten all about the meeting and the schoolmaster: her husband was late, and she wanted her dinner. At twenty minutes past six, she came upon her guest in the hall, kneeling on the door-mat, first on one knee, then on the other, turning up the feet of his trousers. “Why, Mr Graham,” she said kindly, as he rose and proceeded to look for his cotton umbrella, easily discernible in the stand among the silk ones of the house, “you’re never going out on a night like this?” “I am going to the prayer-meeting, ma’am,” he said. “Nonsense! You’ll be wet to the skin before you get half way.” “I promised, you may remember, ma’am, to talk a little to them.” “You only said so to my husband. You may be very glad, seeing it has turned out so wet, that I would not allow him to have it announced from the pulpit. There is not the slightest occasion for your going. Besides, you have not had your dinner.” “That’s not of the slightest consequence, ma’am. A bit of bread and cheese before I go to bed is all I need to sustain nature, and fit me for understanding my proposition in Euclid. I have been in the habit, for the last few years, of reading one every night before I go to bed.” “We dissenters consider a chapter of the Bible the best thing to read before going to bed,” said the lady, with a sustained voice. “I keep that for the noontide of my perceptions--for mental high water,” said the schoolmaster. “Euclid is good enough after supper. Not that I deny myself a small portion of the Word,” he added with a smile, as he proceeded to open the door--“when I feel very hungry for it.” “There is no one expecting you,” persisted the lady, who could ill endure not to have her own way, even when she did not care for the matter concerned. “Who will be the wiser or the worse if you stay at home?”