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A slight color came into his cheek. “My place is not there, Sister Hiler,” he said gently; “it’s for those with the gift o’ tongues. I go forth only a common laborer in the vineyard.” He stopped and hesitated; he might have said more, but the widow, who was familiar with that kind of humility as the ordinary perfunctory expression of her class, suggested no sympathetic interest in his mission.

“Thar’s a deal o’ talk over there,” she said dryly, “and thar’s folks ez thinks thar’s a deal o’ money spent in picnicking the Gospel that might be given to them ez wish to spread it, or to their widows and children. But that don’t consarn you, Brother Gideon. Sister Parsons hez money enough to settle her darter Meely comfortably on her own land; and I’ve heard tell that you and Meely was only waitin’ till you was ordained to be jined together. You’ll hev an easier time of it, Brother Gideon, than poor Marvin Hiler had,” she continued, suppressing her tears with a certain astringency that took the place of her lost pride; “but the Lord wills that some should be tried and some not.”

“But I am not going to marry Meely Parsons,” said Gideon quietly.

The widow took her foot from the rocker. “Not marry Meely!” she repeated vaguely. But relapsing into her despondent mood she continued: “Then I reckon it’s true what other folks sez of Brother Silas Braggley makin’ up to her and his powerful exhortin’ influence over her ma. Folks sez ez Sister Parsons hez just resigned her soul inter his keepin’.”

“Brother Silas hez a heavenly gift,” said the young man, with gentle enthusiasm; “and perhaps it may be so. If it is, it is the Lord’s will. But I do not marry Meely because my life and my ways henceforth must lie far beyond her sphere of strength. I oughtn’t to drag a young inexperienced soul with me to battle and struggle in the thorny paths that I must tread.”

“I reckon you know your own mind,” said Sister Hiler grimly. “But thar’s folks ez might allow that Meely Parsons ain’t any better than others, that she shouldn’t have her share o’ trials and keers and crosses. Riches and bringin’ up don’t exempt folks from the shadder. I married Marvin Hiler outer a house ez good ez Sister Parsons’, and at a time when old Cyrus Parsons hadn’t a roof to his head but the cover of the emigrant wagon he kem across the plains in. I might say ez Marvin knowed pretty well wot it was to have a helpmeet in his ministration, if it wasn’t vanity of sperit to say it now. But the flesh is weak, Brother Gideon.” Her influenza here resolved itself into unmistakable tears, which she wiped away with the first article that was accessible in the work-bag before her. As it chanced to be a black silk neckerchief of the deceased Hiler, the result was funereal, suggestive, but practically ineffective.

“You were a good wife to Brother Hiler,” said the young man gently. “Everybody knows that.”

“It’s suthin’ to think of since he’s gone,” continued the widow, bringing her work nearer to her eyes to adjust it to their tear-dimmed focus. “It’s suthin’ to lay to heart in the lonely days and nights when thar’s no man round to fetch water and wood and lend a hand to doin’ chores; it’s suthin’ to remember, with his three children to feed, and little Selby, the eldest, that vain and useless that he can’t even tote the baby round while I do the work of a hired man.”

“It’s a hard trial, Sister Hiler,” said Gideon, “but the Lord has His appointed time.”

Familiar as consolation by vague quotation was to Sister Hiler, there was an occult sympathy in the tone in which this was offered that lifted her for an instant out of her narrower self. She raised her eyes to his. The personal abstraction of the devotee had no place in the deep dark eyes that were lifted from the cradle to hers with a sad, discriminating, and almost womanly sympathy. Surprised out of her selfish preoccupation, she was reminded of her apparent callousness to what might be his present disappointment. Perhaps it seemed strange to her, too, that those tender eyes should go a-begging.