It was the middle of the afternoon when Douglas bade the Bentons good-by and walked slowly down the road. He had many things to consider, and he wished to be off somewhere by himself. His visit to the shoe-maker's had been like a benediction, and the wonderful faith he had witnessed there, combined with the words of brave courage to which he had listened, rebuked his doubts and fears. He had been strongly tempted to give up and run away from what he knew to be his duty. He had planned to live only for himself, and wander wherever his spirit might lead. But now a longing came upon him to stay and help those two old lonely people, and comfort them in their time of need. It was the first link which was to bind him to this parish, the golden link of divine sympathy. Little did he realise that afternoon what the next link would be in his life's mystic chain.

It was a hot day and the river looked alluring and refreshing. He thought of the big tree down by the shore, and of its cooling shade. He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon there, alone with his thoughts and his violin. There was something in his soul which he could express only upon his beloved instrument. He had played very little since coming to Rixton. Twice he had amazed the Jukes' children with lively airs, and one evening he had played for their parents. He smiled to himself as he thought of its soothing effect upon Jake who had fallen asleep in his chair.

There was no sign of life in the house as he entered. Mrs. Jukes and the children had gone to visit a neighbour, and Jake was sound asleep upon the sofa in the sitting-room. Going at once to his little room, Douglas took his violin out of its case, and, carrying it under his arm, he slipped quietly out of the house and made his way swiftly down over the fields toward the river.

He was very hot and it was refreshing to sit under the shade of the tree with his back against the big ice-scarred trunk. In fact, he was so comfortable that he had no inclination to play upon his violin which was lying by his side. It was good to sit there and think. Again the old lure of the freedom of a wandering life swept upon him, and the impression the Bentons had made gradually diminished. His eyes followed several swallows as they darted here and there. What a happy free-from-care life they must lead, he mused. They come and go at will, and in a few weeks they will be speeding away to the sunny southland. Why should the birds have privileges greater than human beings?

And as he sat there a drowsiness stole over him which he made no effort to resist. In a few minutes the world of sight and sound was blotted out, and he slept. He awakened with a start and looked around. Then he glanced at his watch and found that it was four o'clock, and that he must have been asleep for about half an hour. What was it that aroused him? he wondered. No one was in sight, and he could hear nothing. A sense of loneliness suddenly took possession of him. Almost mechanically, he picked up his violin and drew the bow across the strings. At first, he played several old familiar hymns, but ere long he drifted off into dreamland to the varying fancies of heart and mind. On and on he played, unheeding time and place. The music varied, now soft and low, and again rising to grand triumphant strains.

At length he paused, and looked quickly around. A feeling possessed him that he was being watched. Neither was he mistaken, for a girl at once stepped forth from behind a clump of bushes and advanced toward him. He felt sure he had seen her before, but just where he could not at the moment remember. She was very beautiful, and her face glowed with animation, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

"Oh, I heard you," she laughingly began. "You thought you were alone, did you?"

"I certainly did," Douglas replied. "But I am delighted to see you, as
I was getting tired of my own company. Do you like music?"

"I like yours, oh, so much! I can never forget the first time I heard you play."

"Heard me play!" Douglas repeated in surprise. "When was that?"

"Why, don't you remember?" and the girl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "It was that awful night in the city when my father was playing, and you came and took the violin from him, and——"

"You don't mean to tell me that you are that girl?" Douglas interrupted, as he leaped to his feet. "Why, yes, you are the very same though not so pale and frightened. I knew I had seen you somewhere before, but could not remember just where."

"Isn't it funny!" and the girl's silvery laugh rang out. "How in the world did you happen to come here?"

"Oh, I'm working for Jake Jukes, that's all."

"I know that. You're the man who put him on his back. My, you must be a great wrestler!"

"Why, who told you about that?" Douglas smilingly questioned.

"Empty, of course. He knows everything that goes on in this place."

"And tells it, too?"

"Why, yes. He's as good as a newspaper. Nell says we wouldn't know what is going on but for Empty."

"Who is Nell?"

"She's my sister, and she's reading to daddy now, in front of the house. You must come with me at once and see her, for I've told her about you a thousand times."

"About me!"

"Yes. How you played on the street, and were so good to us. And daddy will be so glad to meet you, too, for he has been feeling so badly ever since that night that he didn't thank you for your kindness."

The girl's face was flushed with excitement, and she was anxious to rush off to tell of the great discovery she had made. But she wished to take her prize with her, and Douglas was nothing loath to go, as he longed to meet the old man he had seen in the city. He believed that he was Andy Strong, of whom Jake had spoken, and who had "a great deal to say about churches, 'ligion an' parsons," and who was "down on 'em all." He felt that he must be prepared for another wrestling match far different from his bout with Jake. He might find in this blind musician an able opponent, and it would be well for him to be on his guard.

The girl was delighted when Douglas, tucking his violin under his arm, walked along by her side. She was an excellent companion and chatted incessantly.

"This is where we skate in the winter," she told him, pointing to the river. "Oh, it is such fun when the ice is good. The boys come at night and build great fires and we skate around them."

"Do you go to school?" Douglas asked when the girl paused an instant.

"Not now. You see, I have to help Nell, and that takes much of my time. But daddy teaches me. He is a great scholar, and knows most everything. He was a college professor before he became blind."

"Was he?" Douglas asked in surprise. "At what college?"

"Passdale; and it was such a lovely place. My dear mother died when we were there. I was only a little girl when we left, but I remember it well. Nell was at college when father became blind, and she felt so badly about coming away before she could graduate."

"And have you lived here ever since?"

"Oh, yes. There is no other place for us to go."

"Do you like it?"

"Sure. I am happy wherever daddy and Nell are. We have such great times together. But here we are right at the house. It wasn't far, was it?"

Douglas did not reply for he was held spell-bound by the beautiful and interesting scene before him. In a comfortable arm-chair sat the blind musician listening intently to what his daughter was reading. She was seated upon the ground by his side, with a book lying in her lap. It was only for an instant, however, that Douglas was privileged to watch her unobserved, but it was sufficient for him to note the rare charm of her face and form.

"Oh, daddy! Nell!" the girl cried as she rushed forward. "You can't guess who is here?"

At these words the fair reader lifted her head and her eyes rested upon the stranger.

"It's the man who played for us in the city," the girl explained.
"Isn't it wonderful that I have found him!"

An expression of pleasure swept over the young woman's face, as she at once rose to her feet and held out her hand.

"Any one who has befriended my father and sister is welcome here," she quietly remarked. "Father," and she turned partly around, "this is the man you have told us so much about. Nan has brought him to see you."

"I am delighted to meet you, sir," the old man replied, as he took Douglas' hand. "I have wanted to thank you ever since that night you helped us in the city. Get Mr.——"

"Handyman," Douglas assisted.

"Handyman, that's a good name. Nan, get him a chair and make him comfortable."

"I am sorry that I have interrupted the reading, sir," Douglas apologised. "It was your daughter who brought me here. I do not need a chair, as I prefer to sit upon the ground."

"I am so pleased that you have come," the old man replied. "You must have supper with us. We have it out here on the grass when the afternoon is fine and warm. Come, Nell, get it ready."

"Please do not go to any trouble on my account," Douglas protested.

"It is no trouble," Nell assured him. "It is father's supper time, anyway. He always like to have it early, especially on Sunday. You two can have a nice chat together. Come, Nan, I want you."

As Douglas looked around he was surprised to find what a beautiful spot it really was. The house nestled in the midst of fine elm and maple trees. Surrounding the house was a garden, consisting of vegetables and berries of several kinds. Part of the land was in grass, not yet cut. About the place was a strong page wire fence which extended almost to the river.

"You have a beautiful place here, sir," Douglas remarked.

"Indeed it is. A happy home and a perfect day; what more could one desire? 'The Lord hath done great things for us already, whereof we rejoice'."

Douglas gave a slight start of surprise as the old man slowly uttered these words. Surely, if he were an unbeliever he would not quote Scripture in such a reverent manner.

"It is good that you can view it that way, sir. Few people ever think of being thankful for what they receive."

"That is where they make a sad mistake. I have learned through long years that Ezra of old was right when he told the people to turn from weeping and to 'drink the sweet.' Before this blindness came upon me I was something like Saul of Tarsus, always kicking against the pricks, or in other words, the dictates of conscience! 'Before I was afflicted, I went astray,' as the psalmist sang. But I have viewed things in a different light since then, and though the Father's hand has been heavy upon me, it was for my good, and for which I am most thankful. The great Master's warning to Simon is most applicable to me. 'When thou wast young,' He said, 'thou girdest thyself, and walkest whither thou wouldest; but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.'"

"You are well versed in Scripture, I see," Douglas remarked as the old man paused.

"And why not? It is the one Book from which I have drawn the greatest inspiration. It, and the works of the immortal bard of Avon are the books I recommended above all others to the students of my class. Not only for the great uplifting influence, but for the wonderful language, I advised them to drink deeply of those profound wells of purest English."

"What did you teach at college?" Douglas enquired.

"English Literature, as you can easily guess from my remarks. I was at
Passdale for over fifteen years."

"You must miss such work now."

"Not at all. I have other interests to occupy my time, and my present leisure affords me the opportunity of carrying out a work which has long been in my mind."

"And what is that?"

"It is the re-writing and revising of my notes on the plays of Shakespeare. It is well advanced now, and a noted publisher, a special friend of mine, will publish it as soon as it is completed."

"You must have found your blindness a great handicap, sir."

"You and others might think so," and the old man smiled. "But there is an ancient proverb which tells us that when God closes a door he always opens a window. It was so with sightless Milton, and though I do not class myself with him, nevertheless, it has been true in my case. It was Emerson who gave us that wonderful essay on Compensation, and he knew whereof he wrote."

"But how have you managed to prepare this work of yours?" Douglas questioned. "You surely must have had some assistance."

"Nell has been my guardian angel ever since my blindness. She does all my writing, reads the plays and my notes to refresh my memory. She was reading King Lear this afternoon, and I was much stirred by the sad trials of the poor old king. I mentally compared my lot with his and found that the advantage is mine. He had no home, two ungrateful daughters, and, as far as I can learn, no 'shadow of a rock in a weary land.' I have a comfortable dwelling, small though it is, two good and loving daughters, a work which gives me great pleasure, and the hope of a sure abiding place not made with hands. What more could a man desire?"

"You are indeed to be congratulated," Douglas replied. "And much pleasure lies ahead of you when your book is published. You will have the satisfaction of knowing that it will be of great interest and assistance to many. I, for one, shall look forward to reading it."

"Will you really?" and the old man's face beamed with pleasure. "But perhaps you would like to see it in manuscript? I have not shown it to any one outside my own household. You are the first I have talked to in this way about my work. Nell! Nan!" he called.

"What is it, father?" Nell asked, as she at that instant appeared carrying a large tray in her hands.

"Bring the work, Nell. I want to show it to Mr. Handyman."

"Suppose you wait until after supper, father," his daughter suggested.
"Everything is all ready, and when we are through, you can show it to
Mr. Handyman."

"But I need it now."

"Very well, then," and Nell gave the order to Nan.

It took but a few minutes to spread the white cloth upon the grass and arrange the dishes.

"I am afraid this is a very humble supper," Nell apologised, as she sat down upon the ground and began to pour the tea.

"Surely you do not call this humble!" Douglas replied. "It has been a long time since I have seen such bread and cake. And what delicious strawberries!"

"They are Nell's," the professor proudly explained. "She is the gardener here."

"What about Nan, father? You must give her some credit."

"Oh, I don't count, especially when it comes to farming," and Nan gave her pretty head a slight toss. "I'm willing to let Nell take all the credit."

Douglas felt perfectly at home now. It was such a bright and happy time, and he was sorry when the meal was finished. He could not understand the mystery surrounding the visit of the professor and his daughter to the city, begging on the streets for money. Why had they done it? he asked himself, when they seemed to have everything that they needed.

"Now, Nan, bring me my box of cigars," her father ordered when supper was over.

"Cigars!" the girl exclaimed in surprise. "Why, daddy, you have been keeping them as if they were precious jewels."

"I know it, dear. But jewels must be used sometime, and so must cigars. I have kept them for rare days, and this is one of them. Since my old friend Dr. Royden visited me, I have had no one to take a keen interest in my work until to-day. When he sent me those cigars the following Christmas, he wrote that they were extra good ones, and were to be kept for special occasions. My old pipe will serve when I am alone, but to-day we must have cigars."

Douglas noticed that Nell was much pleased to see her father in such excellent spirits. She touched the match to his cigar, and watched him as he blew the smoke into the air with considerable relish. What a picture she would make sitting there, he thought. She seemed to be wholly unaware of her charm and grace of manner, reminding him of some beautiful flower radiating an unconscious influence of sweetness, purity and joy.

"This is one of the most delightful afternoons I have ever spent," Douglas remarked. "What a beautiful place you have here, with the river right near, and the spire of the church showing above the tree tops. I wish I were an artist. By the way, I was around the church this morning, and everything shows signs of neglect. It struck me as rather sad and strange."

As there was no reply, he glanced toward Nell and was surprised to see an anxious expression upon her face. She gave her head a slight shake and held up a warning finger. He looked quickly at her father, and saw that his face had undergone a remarkable change. He was sitting motionless, clutching his cigar between the fingers of his right hand. Presently, his lips moved and he spoke in short, jerky sentences.

"Strange, you ask?" he demanded. "Why strange? What else could be expected? Half-fledged parsons strutting around as if they owned the universe. Little wonder the church is closed. And what of the people? Look at the leaders in this parish."

"Hush, hush, father, dear," Nell interposed. "Don't get excited."

"I'm not excited; I'm just stating plain facts. You know about Si
Stubbles as well as I do."

"But Mr. Handyman is a stranger, remember, father, and we must not trouble him with such things on this his first visit."

"Excuse me, sir," and the old man leaned forward, as if he would look into his visitor's face. "Nell is quite right; she is always right, and I shall say no more about this painful subject to-day."

Nell at once began to gather up the neglected supper dishes, and Douglas felt that it was about time that he was going. He noticed that she seemed somewhat nervous and excited. At first he thought it was due to her father's words, but as he caught her giving a quick and an occasional glance toward the shore, he believed that she was expecting to meet some one there in a few minutes. He wondered who it was, and he felt that Nell was not altogether pleased at the idea of seeing the one who was expecting to meet her there. The thought gave him considerable satisfaction, though he could not explain why.

"You will come again soon, will you not?" the professor asked, as
Douglas bade him good-by.

"I should like to very much," was the reply. "I am most anxious to see your book, and hear more about it."

"Certainly, certainly. That will give me great pleasure. I intended to discuss it with you this evening, but I do not feel equal to it now."

"And I want to hear some of your wonderful music," Nell remarked. "I am so sorry that you have not played anything this evening."

"There is nothing wonderful about it, I assure you, Miss Strong. Just ordinary music."

"It is wonderful," Nan declared. "I have heard you twice now, and I guess I know. And when you come next time, remember you're not going to play all the time, nor talk book nor Church matters; you're going to talk to me. I've got a whole string of questions I want to ask you, and this afternoon I've had to be as mum as an oyster."

"All right, then," Douglas laughingly replied. "I shall see that you are not overlooked the next time I come."

The western sky was all aglow as Douglas walked slowly along the road. There was a sweet peace over meadow and forest. The thought of Nell brought a thrill to his heart and a strange new peace into his soul, It was the mystic glow, the prelude of the coming night, and the dawn of a new to-morrow.