“Do you mean to say, young gentleman, that the first sin was not done in the Garden of Eden, as exactly recorded? Does the Seminary teach that?” The student replies, at length, showing, in terms of modern research and science, exactly what he means: that he has not denied the terrible fact of sin nor of its penalties, etc. But, in the audience sit some younger men, recently graduated, who, by skilfully injected questions, deflect examination into constructive and spiritual channels, bringing out from the students the rich faith that they have to preach and the helpful doctrine that they mean to proclaim to men, and the examination closes with only one man imagining that faith is on its last legs through too much wisdom. These parlous times of test, of trial were approaching for me, and I had my class note-books in order on my desk, for a review, when one morning I awoke suffering agony from the then fashionable ailment--appendicitis; just at a time when the papers were reporting that some Philadelphia society women were compelling doctors to operate on them as a new fad! The student across the hall opened his medicine-closet and made me a very stout and vigorous mustard plaster; but that did not avail. Then the doctors were asked in and gave out the news that I should have to be operated upon immediately. Visions of graduation melted in thin air. While a carriage was secured, I dictated two short letters, not knowing whether they would be my last. Then I had my friend read me a letter which the missionary had sent. It was a letter to the effect that she felt that our personal feelings should be put aside in order that she might devote herself to God’s work. It pleaded that we should bring our correspondence to an end, in order not to heighten the tragedy to which the matter had reached. The words were like knife blades driven deep, and causing a pain more acute than that physical pain which had brought me next door to death. As the students carried me downstairs and put me in the carriage, they saw my face contorted and purple with physical agony. _Chapter XXXI. How Some of the Joys of Friendship Came to me in the Tower Room. The Orator in the White Vest. How Soon I Lost my Diploma_ From the ether cone which a house surgeon had held over my nostrils I breathed unconsciousness and peace. I awoke in a tower room, with a semi-circle of bright windows letting in the morning sun on me, and with a quiet-motioned, white-capped nurse watching me as I struggled free from grim dreams and tried to regain my right mind. The merest turn of the eyes toward the low windows permitted me to see the May day outside: a day in which salmon fishers came in boats up the river and patiently, skilfully lured giant fish from the deep waters to their bags.