From Grafton I was sent to New Haven circuit, in Mason County, one hundred and sixty miles west. To get there I was compelled to borrow twenty-five dollars. Dr. J. L. Hensley kindly entertained us until a house could be found; for as yet there was not a parsonage in the conference. This was considered one of the best fields we had. The first year it paid me four hundred and sixteen dollars, and the next, four hundred and twenty-seven dollars, with a few presents in the shape of vegetables, groceries, and the like. Of course, I paid rent out of this—thirty-six dollars one year, and fifty the other. I had only four appointments—New Haven, Bachtel, Union, and Vernon, and these were close together. During the two years, one hundred and thirty were received into the Church. The next conference was held at Bachtel, which gave me my first experience in caring for such a body. Bishop Weaver presided and preached the word mightily on Sunday. He had been popular even since his first visit to that section, in 1870. By request of Hon. George W. Murdock, a wealthy business man in Hartford City, three miles west, he went down there and preached in our church on Sunday evening. Mr. Murdock was an ardent admirer of the bishop. Six years before he had entertained him in his home, and was charmed by him as a preacher and conversationalist. After spending the first hour with him, he slipped into the kitchen and said: “Wife, he is the most wonderful man I ever met. Do come in and hear him talk.” The old gentleman never forgot the bishop’s sermon on Sunday. For weeks afterward he would talk about it in his store, and elsewhere, sometimes in tears, nearly always ending with the observation, “He is a wonderful man.” It might not be out of place to note here that the good bishop more than once shared the benefactions of his wealthy friend. During my second year on this charge, a peculiar and most trying experience came to our home. A great revival was going on at the Union appointment. The altar was nightly crowded with earnest seekers, some of whom belonged to the best families in the community. Early one morning a young man came hurriedly to the place where I was stopping, and calling me out, said, “Mr. Weekley, I have been sent to tell you that your babe is dead.” Hastening home I found the faithful mother watching at the side of the withered flower, and anxiously awaiting my coming. How loving the ministry of friends had been; nor did their tender interest abate a whit until the little lifeless form was put away to sleep in the cemetery on the hillside, in the family lot of Dr. Hensley.