up the minister's hands," on such occasions that was agreeable. There was a sense of satisfaction in the frequent allusions made to the Sunday's sermon, in the repetition of the text and "heads," and in the admiring remarks and comparisons which usually accompanied this, as if it were religious conversation that was being carried on and enjoyed. The pleasing delusion extended to the old people's endless talks about subscription lists, and ways and means of support, and to the young people's plans and preparations for a great fair to be held for the purpose of obtaining funds for the future furnishing and adorning of the parsonage. So it was a happy era in the history of the congregation and the village. Everybody was interested, almost everybody was pleased.

If Mr. Maxwell had heard half the kind and admiring things that were said of him, or if he had known a tenth part of what he was expected to accomplish by his sermons, his example, his influence, he would have been filled with confusion and dismay. But happily "a wholesome silence. a wholesome silence" with regard to these things was at first for the most part preserved towards him, and he took his way among his people unembarrassed by any overanxious effort to meet expectations too highly raised. To tell the truth, he was getting a good deal more credit than he deserved just at this time. His devotion to his work, his labours "in season and out of season," his zeal and energy, and kindness in the way of visiting and becoming acquainted with the people, were due less to a conscious desire to do them good, or to serve his Master, than to a growing pleasure in friendly contact with his fellow creatures. He was entering on a new and wonderful branch of study, the study of living men, and he entered upon it with earnestness and delight.

Hitherto his most intimate acquaintance had been with men the greater number of whom had been dead for hundreds of years. His living friends had for the most part been men of one type, men of more or less intelligence, educated on the same plan, holding the same opinions-men of whose views on most subjects he might have been sure without a word. from them. His intercourse with the greater number of them had been formal and conventional; upon very few had he ever had any special claim for sympathy or interest.

All this was different now. The interest of the Gershom people was real and evident, and he had a right to it; and he owed to them, for his Master's sake, both love and service. They were real men he had to deal with, not mere embodiments of certain views and opinions. They were men with feelings and prejudices; they were men who, like himself, sinned and suffered, and were afraid. They had opinions also, on most subjects, firmly held and decidedly expressed. Indeed, some of them had a way of putting things which was a positive refreshment and stimulus to him. It had, for the moment, the effect of genius and originality, and in the first pleasure of contact, he was inclined to give to some of his new friends a hig er place intellectually than he gave them after wails. Happily, he kept his opinions of men and things very much to himself in these first days, and scandalised no one by declaring Peter Longley to be a genius, or John McNider to be a hero, or by taking the part of poor Mark Varney, as one more sinned against than sinning.

He owed his reputation for wisdom in these first months quite as much to his silence as to his speech. His own superficial knowledge of men and things, got easily from books, seemed to him-as indeed it was-a poor thing in comparison with the wisdom which some of these quiet, unpretending men had almost unconsciously been gathering through the experience of years. But it did not seem so to them. When he did speak, he could, through the discipline of education and training, put into clear right words the thoughts which they found it not easy to utter, and they gave him credit for the thought as his, when often he was only giving back to them what he had received. And he listened well, and he chose his subjects judiciously when he did talk. It was iron with the blacksmith, and wood with the carpenter, and seeds and soils, and the rotation of crops with the farmer, and without at all meaning to exalt himself thereby, he would put the reading of some leisure hour into a few well-chosen words, which seemed like treasures of wisdom to men who had gathered their knowledge by the slow process of hearsay and observation; and what with one thing, and what with another, the minister grew in favour with them all.

That there had ever been a latent sense of disappointment in the minds of any great number of the people on his first appearance among them would have been indignantly denied. Possibly, in the varied course of events, some in the parish might have their eyes opened to see failings and faults in him, but in the meantime there existed in the congregation a wonderful unanimity of feeling with regard to him.

"The cause was prospering in their midst," that was the usual formula by which was expressed the satisfaction of the staid and elderly people among them. It meant different things to different people: that the church was well filled; that the weekly meetings were well attended that the subscription list looked well; that the North Gore folks were drawing in generally, and identifying themselves with the congregation.

This last sign of prosperity was the one most generally seen and rejoiced over. There had all along been a difference of opinion among the wise men of the church as to the manner in which the desired union was to be brought about. The bolder spirits, and the new-comers, who did not remember the well-meant but futile attempts of Mr. Hollister and Deacon Turner in that direction, were of opinion that formal prospects for union should be made to the North Gore men, that matters of doctrine and discipline should be discussed either publicly or privately as might be decided, and that in some way the outsiders should be made to commit themselves to a general movement in the direction of union. But the more prudent and the easy-going of the flock saw difficulties in the way. It was not impossible, the prudent people said, that in the course of discussion new elements of disagreement might manifest themselves, and that the committing might be to the wrong side. The easy-going souls among them were of opinion that it was best "just to let things kind of happen along easy"-saying that after a while the sensible people of the North Gore would "realize their privileges" and avail themselves of the advantages which church fellowship offered to true Christians, and all agreed, before a

year were over, that Mr. Maxwell's influence and teaching would help to bring about all that was so much desired.

And as time went on, one thing worked with another toward the desired end. In the course of the winter, several of those who were looked upon as leaders among the North Gore people, both for intelligence and piety, east in their lot with the village people by uniting formally with the church. A good many more became constant hearers without doing so; some hesitating for one reason, and some for another. Among these were the Flemings, whose reason for keeping aloof was supposed to be Jacob Holt, though no one had a right to speak, by their authority, of the matter.

Of course Mr. Maxwell had been made acquainted with the peculiar circumstances of the place, and he rejoiced with the rest at such evidences of success in his work as the gathering in of the North Gore implied, but no one had ever told him of any serious difficulty existing between old Mr. Fleming and Jacob Holt. It was Squire Holt who first spoke to him about it, and the winter was nearly over before that time.

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The squire in one of his retrospective moods went over the whole story," speaking very kindly of the young lad who had gone astray, and of his brother who had died. He spoke kindly too, of the old man, with whom he had always been on the most friendly terms, but he did not hesitate to say that he thought him foolish and unreasonable in the position he took towards Jacob.

"It was because of something that happened when his son Hugh went away, but Jacob was no more to blame than others, and it might have been all right if the foolish young man had only stayed at home and taken the risk. I tried at the time to talk things over with the old man, but he never would hear a word. There are folks in Gershom who think hard of Jacob, because of old Mr. Fleming's opinion, though they did not know a word about the matter. And I'm afraid it's going to do mischief in the church." "It is strange that I should never have heard of all this before," said Mr. Maxwell, at a loss to decide how much of the regret and anxiety evidently felt by Mr. Holt was due to the weakness of age. "During all my visits to Mr. Fleming, and you know I saw him frequently during his illness, not a word was ever spoken that could have reference to any trouble between the two, nor has your son

Mr. Maxwell paused. He was not so sure of the exact correctness of what he had been about to say. A good many hints and remarks of Jacob and of his wife also, which had seemed vague at the time, and which he had allowed to pass without remark, occurred to him now as possibly having reference to this trouble.

"Probably there has been misunderstanding between them," said he after a little.

"Just so," said the old man eagerly. "Jacob ain't the man to be hard on anybody-to say hard -he likes to have what is his own, and being a good man of business he hates shiftless doings, and so shiftless folks think and say hard things of him. But as to taking the advantage of an old man like Mr. Fleming-why, it would be about as mean a thing as a man could do, and Jacob ain't the man to do it, whatever may be said of him." "Why, look here, Mr. Maxwell.

Just let me

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tell you all about it." And the old man, with perfect fairness and sufficient clearness, went into all particulars as to the state of Mr. Fleming's affairs at the time of his son's death, and of Jacob's claims upon him. His real respect and friendship for the old man was evident in all he said, and when he lamented that his old friend's unreasonableness should make a settlement of his affairs so difficult, and should make unpleasant talk and hard feelings in the community, Mr. Maxwell could not but spare his regret.

"Why, look here, Mr. Maxwell. There hasn't been a cent paid on the principal yet, and not all the interest, though it is years ago now, and some of that has been borrowed money. And there is little prospect of its being any different for years to come. If it had been almost any one else but Jacob, he'd have foreclosed long ago, and I don't know but he had better when the right time comes."

It was on Mr. Maxwell's lips to express assent to this, when a glance at the face of Miss Elizabeth arrested his words. It wore a look which he had sometimes seen on it when she wished to turn her father's thoughts away from a subject which was becoming painful to him. There was anxiety, even pain in her face as well, on this occasion, and these deepened as her father went on.

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6

Only the other day Jacob was talking to me about it. 'Father,' says he, why can't you just say a word to the old man about letting me have a piece of his land on the river, and settle matters all up. He'll hear you,' says he. I don't want to make hard feelings in the church, or anywhere else,' says he. It's as much for the old man's interest to have his affairs all straightened out, as it is for me and more. There need be no trouble about it, if he'd only listen to reason.' I expect I shall have to have a talk with Mr. Fleming about it some time," added the old man gravely. Or you might speak, Mr. Maxwell. He would listen to you."

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Only, father, it would be as well to wait till the old gentleman is quite well and strong again," said Elizabeth, rising and folding up her work, and moving about as if to prevent the chance of more talk.

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'Well, I guess so, and then I don't suppose it would amount to much anything I could say to him. I wouldn't like to say anything to vex or worry him. He has had a deal of trouble one way and another, since he came to the place, and it has kind of soured him, but he is always as sweet as milk to You aren't going away, are you, Mr. Maxwell? There, I have tired you all out with my talk, and I've tired myself too. But don't you hurry away. I'll go and step round a little to get the fresh air, and then I'll lie down a spell, and rest. And, Lizzie, you find "The Puritan" for Mr. Maxwell, and he can take a look at that in the meantime."

me.

Elizabeth did as she was bidden, and managed to make the minister understand without saying so, that she would like him not to go away. So he sat down to the doubtful enjoyment of the paper while Elizabeth followed her father from the room.

CHAPTER VIII.-TAKING COUNCIL.

It was one of those soft bright days of early March that might beguile a new-comer to the country into a temporary belief that spring had come at last. and Elizabeth tying her "cloud" over her head

followed her father out into the yard. To take a walk just for the sake of the walk was not likely to suit old Mr. Holt or to do him much good. But he and Elizabeth went about here and there, in the yard and up and down the well-swept walk from the gate to the door, where the snow lay still on either side as high as the squire's shoulder, and Elizabeth talked to him about the great wood pile, and praised the industry and energy of Nathan Pell the hired man, and of his team, Dick and Doll, that were making it longer every day. She spoke of the great drifts that must be cleared away before the thaw came, of the bough which last night's wind had brought down from the elm in the corner, of the broken bit of fence beyond the gate, of anything to lead his thoughts away from the theme which for the last hour had occupied and excited him.

She succeeded so well, that he went away by himself to get a hammer and nails to mend the broken paling, and Elizabeth, leaning over the little white gate while she waited for him to return, had an unexpected pleasure-a little chat with Mrs. Jacob. It was not the chat which gave her the pleasure, it was her own thought that amused her, and the knowledge of her sister-in-law's thoughts as well.

She knew that though Mrs. Jacob declined to come in now at her invitation, she had come up the street with the full design of doing so, and she knew that she was saying to herself that Mr. Maxwell could not be in the house, though Jacob had seen him going that way, or Lizzie would never be standing so long at the gate, looking down the

street.

"I am waiting for father," said Elizabeth; "he has gone in for the hammer to drive some nails in the fence. I suppose Nathan must have driven against it last night in the dark." She was hoping that Mr. She was hoping that Mr. Maxwell was enjoying "the Puritan so well that he would not be tempted to look out at the window so as to be seen.

"Here is father; he will be glad to see you; it is a long time since you were here. Won't you change your mind and come in?"

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Well, no, not to-day. I am going in to see Miss Ball a minute about my bonnet, and I ought to hurry

home."

Mrs. Jacob knew that she would have to answer many questions about Jacob and the children. Probably the squire had seen them all to-day already, and would see them all again before the day was

over.

"I think I'll go, and not hinder him about the fence, since he doesn't know I am here. Why don't you come up sometimes? Well, good bye; I guess I'll go."

"Good bye," said Elizabeth. "And now when she finds out that Mr. Maxwell was here all the time, though I was standing at the gate, she will make herself and Jacob, too, believe that I am a deceitful girl; though why I should tell her, since she did not ask, I do not quite see."

She took the nail box from her father's hand and followed him out at the gate, giving him each nail as he wanted it, making suggestions and praising his work as one might do with a child. It was soon finished to the old man's satisfaction, and by that time his excitement and his troubled thoughts were gone, and he was ready for his afternoon's rest.

"You have something to say to me, Miss Holt,"

said the minister, when she came again into the sitting-room.

"No-I am not sure that I have, though a little ago I thought I had."

"But, Miss Holt, I am almost sure you must have something to say," said Mr. Maxwell, after a pause. "I have sometimes found that I have got a clearer view of vexed questions in village politics, and even in church matters, where there are no vexations as yet, after a little talk with you, than after many and long talks with other people." Elizabeth laughed. "Thank you.

The reason is, that all the rest are on one side or the other of all vexed questions, and not being specially concerned in them, at least, not personally concerned in them, I can see all sides; and usually there is little to see that might not as well be ignored."

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'Well, does not that hold good in this case also?"

"But in this case I may be supposed to take a side."

The minister smiled.

"But not so as to prevent you from seeing clearly all sides. You are not going to tire of the task of keeping me right in village matters?"

Even when the sunshine is bright above, the March air is keen and cold, and so Elizabeth, chilled with lingering so long at the gate, leaned towards the open fire, shading her face with her hand. She was silent for some time, thinking of several things.

"At least tell me that in this case, also, there is little to see, or I shall begin to fear that your father may be right when he says there may be danger of trouble arising out of this matter to us all."

"No. There need be no trouble, if people would only not talk," said Elizabeth, raising her head and turning so as to look at the minister. "I will tell you what I was thinking about before I went out; I was sorry that my father had spoken to you about Mr. Fleming's affairs, or that he should have suggested the idea of your speaking to the old man about them, I wanted you not to promise to speak,-I mean I do not think it would do any good were you to do so."

"Well, I did not promise."

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No, and I think my father may forget that he has spoken to you about it; he forgets many things now. And if you would forget all about it, too, it it would be all the better."

"I will be silent, and that will answer every purpose of forgetfulness, or ignorance, will it not?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not quite, and since I have said so much, I ought to say a little more. I can see all sides of this matter with sufficient clearness to be aware that trouble to a good many people, or at least discomfort and annoyance, might easily spring out of it. As to the church, I am not sure. But if everybody would keep silence, there need be no trouble. And to tell the truth, Mr. Maxwell, I was not thinking of Mr. Fleming or of Jacob, or of what my father was telling you, except in its relation to you. It is a pity that you should have been told any of those old grievances."

Elizabeth rose and took the brush from its hook, and swept up the ashes and embers that had fallen upon the hearth. Then she seated herself in her own low chair by the window, and took up her

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"And I might in such a case have committed myself to the doing or saying of something foolish at a first hearing, as I should have done to-day but that your face made me pause."

"Did it ?" said Elizabeth demurely. "And if silence is the thing to be desired, I shall be all the more likely to keep silence to others, if you give me the right and true version of troubles past, and of troubles possible in the future, with regard to this matter. Will you take up your work again, and tell me all? Or shall I come another time -Miss Elizabeth?"

But Miss Elizabeth had little to add to the story which her father had told. Jacob was hard, she supposed, just as business men were obliged to be hard sometimes, But then Mr. Fleming was not to be regarded just as another man in the same position might be regarded-especially he was not to be so regarded by her brother Jacob. In the sore troubles that had come into the old man's life, Jacob had had some part. What part Elizabeth did not know; she did not even know the nature of the trouble, but she knew, though she had only learned it lately, that the very sight of her brother was like wormwood to Mr. Fleming, that even Mrs. Fleming, friendly and sweet to all the world, was cold and distant to Jacob. And all this seemed to Elizabeth a sufficient reason why he should be more gentle and forbearing with them than with others, that he should be willing to forego his just claims rather than to lay himself open to the charge of wishing or even seeming

to be "hard on them."

"For what is a little land, more or less, to Jacob, who has so much? And why should he wish to take even a small part of what old Mr. Fleming has worked so hard to improve-has put his life into, as one may say?"

'But does he want to take it? Have you ever spoken to your brother about this?"

"He is supposed to want it for the site of the new buildings to be put up for the manufacturing company -if it ever comes into existence. But he does not want it without a sufficient allowance to the old man for it. Only I suppose the debt would cover it all. But I have never spoken about it to Jacob. It is not easy to speak to him about business unless he wishes," said Elizabeth, hesitating. "But Clifton, who is quite inclined to be hard on Jacob, laughs at the idea of his doing unjustly or even severely by Mr. Fleming."

"At least he has done nothing yet, it seems." "No, Clifton says that Mr. Fleming's dislike of Jacob has become a sort of mania with him, and that he would not yield to him even if it were for his own advantage-he has brooded over his trouble so long and so sadly, poor old man!"

"That is quite possible," said Mr. Maxwell gravely. "And you think I should not speak to him about his trouble?"

"Not about his trouble with Jacob. Indeed, it

is said that he will not speak of it, nor hear of it. It would do no good. And then he likes you so much, Mr. Maxwell, and comes to church as he did not always do, and seems to take such pleasure in hearing you. It would be a pity to risk disturbing these pleasant relations between you, with so small a chance of any good being done by it. And besides," Elizabeth made a long pause before she added: " besides, if trouble is before us because of this, and if it should come to taking sides, as almost always happens in the vexing questions of Gershom life, it would be far better that you should know nothing about the matter-that at least you should not have seemed to commit yourself to any decided opinion with regard to it. I cannot bear to think that your comfort and usefulness may be endangered through the affairs of those who should be your chief supports. Not that I think this likely to happen," added Elizabeth, colouring with the fear of having spoken too earnestly; "I dare say, after all, I am making mountains of mole hills.' Mr. Maxwell rose and took his hat.

Yes, kind to ourselves. And I dare say I may have given you a wrong impression about the matter after all, and that it looks more serious to you than it needs do. I had much better have kept silent, as I would have other people do."

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Don't say that, Miss Elizabeth. What should I do without you to set me right, and to keep me right about so many matters? Be anything but silent, my friend."

There was a good deal more said about Mr. Fleming's affairs, and about other affairs, though Mr. Maxwell stood all the time with his hat in his hand. But enough has been told to give an idea of the way in which these young people talked to each other. Mr. Maxwell never went from the house without congratulating himself on the friendship of Miss Holt. How much good she always did him! What a blessing it was for him that there was one person in his congregation to whom he might speak unreservedly, and who had sense and judgment to see and to say just what was best for him to do or to refrain from doing.

This was putting it rather strongly. Elizabeth was far from assuming such a position in relation to the minister. But she had sense and judgment, and frankness and simplicity of manner, and no doubt she found it pleasant to be listened to, and deferred to, as Mr. Maxwell was in the habit of doing. And she knew she could help him, and that she had helped him, many a time. He was inexperienced, to say nothing more, and she gave him many a hint with regard to some of the doubtful measures and crooked natures in Gershom society, which prevented some stumbles, and guided him safely past some difficult places on his first entrance into it. But she had done more and better than that for him, though she herself hardly knew it.

Squire Holt's house was a pleasant house to visit, and during the first homesick and miserable days of his stay in Gershom, when he would gladly have turned his back on his vocation and his duties, the