"Mamma, can we—Elsie and I—have a little private talk with you?" asked Violet as they left the dinner-table the next Sunday.

"Certainly, daughter, if it be suited to the sacredness of the day."

"Quite so, mamma," answered Elsie: "it is, at least in part, a question of conscience."

"Then we shall want our Bibles to help us decide it. Let us take them and go out upon the lawn, to the inviting shade of yonder group of magnolias."

"Do you intend to be so selfish as to monopolize your mother's society?" asked her father playfully.

"Just for a little while, grandpa," Vi answered with coaxing look and tone. "Please, all of you, let us two have mamma quite to ourselves for a few minutes."

"Well, daughters, what is it?" Mrs. Travilla asked, as she seated herself under the trees with one on each side.

"Mamma," Elsie began, "you saw a young lady talking with us after church? She is Miss Miriam Pettit. She says she and several other young girls belonging to the church used to hold a weekly prayer-meeting in Mrs. Mason's parlor. It is the most central place they can find, and she will be very glad, very much obliged, if you will let them use it still. She has understood that nearly all the furniture of the cottage belongs to you and is still there."

"Yes, that is so; and they are very welcome to the use of any of the rooms. But that is not all you and Vi had to say?"

"Oh no, mamma! she wants us to join them and take part in the meetings—I mean not only to sing and read, but also to lead in prayer."

"Well, my dears, I should be glad to have you do so; and you surely cannot doubt that it would be right?"

"No, mamma," Violet said in her sprightly way, "but we should like to have you tell us—at least I should—that it would not be wrong to refuse."

"My child, do you not believe in prayer as both a duty and a privilege? social and public as well as private prayer?"

"O mamma, yes! but is it not enough for me to pray at home in my closet, and to unite silently with the prayers offered by ministers and others in public?"

"Are we not told to pray without ceasing?"

"Oh yes, mamma! and I did not mean to omit silent, ejaculatory prayer; but is it my duty to lead the devotions of others?"

"Our Saviour gave a precious assurance to those who unite in presenting their petitions at a throne of grace. 'Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.' Some one must lead—there ought always to be several to do so—and why should you be excused more than another?"

"Elsie is willing, mamma, and Miss Pettit too."

"I am glad to hear it," the mother said, with an affectionate look at her eldest daughter. "I know it will be something of a trial to Elsie, and doubtless it is to Miss Pettit too—it is to almost every one: but what a light cross to bear for Jesus compared to that he bore for us—or those borne by the martyrs of old; or even by the missionaries who leave home and dear ones to go far away to teach the heathen! I had hoped my Vi was ready to follow her Master wherever his providence called her: that she would not keep back any part of the price, but give him all."

"Oh yes, yes, mamma!" she cried, the tears starting to her eyes, "I want to be altogether his. I have given him all, and don't want to keep back anything. I will try to do this if you think he calls me to it; though it seems almost impossible." "My child, he will help you if you ask him; will give his Holy Spirit to teach you how to pray and what to pray for. Try to get your mind and heart full of your own and others' needs, to forget their presence and remember his: then words will come, and you will find that in trying to do the Master's work and will, you have brought down a rich blessing upon your own soul. And why should we feel it a trial to speak aloud to our Father in the presence of others of his children, or of those who are not?"

"I don't know, mamma; it does seem very strange that we should."

"I should like to attend your meetings, but hardly suppose I should be welcome," Mrs. Travilla said with a smile.

"To us, mamma," both answered, "but perhaps not to the others. Miss Pettit said there were to be none but young girls."

"Isa is invited, I presume?"

"Yes, mamma, and says she will attend; but can't promise anything more. I think she will, though, if you will talk to her as you have to us," Violet added, as they rose to return to the veranda, where the rest of the family still lingered.

And she was not mistaken. Isa was too true and earnest a Christian, too full of love for the Master and zeal for the upbuilding of his cause and kingdom, to refuse to do anything that she saw would tend to that, however much it might cost her to attempt it.

"Well, cricket," Mr. Dinsmore said, giving Violet a pet name he had bestowed upon her when she was a very little girl, "come sit on my knee and tell me if we are all to be kept in the dark in regard to the object of this secret conference with mamma?"

"Oh, grandpa," she said, taking the offered seat, and giving him a hug and kiss, "gentlemen have no curiosity, you know. Still, now it's settled, we don't care if you do hear all about it."

Both he and his wife highly approved, and the latter, seeing an interested yet regretful look on poor Molly's face, asked, "Why should we not have, in addition, a female prayer-meeting of our own? We have more than twice the number necessary to claim the promise."

The suggestion was received with favor by all the ladies present, time and place were fixed upon, and then, that they might be the better prepared to engage in this new effort to serve the Master, they agreed to take the subject of prayer for that evening's Bible study.

But once entered upon, they found it so interesting, comprehensive and profitable a theme that they devoted several evenings to it.

The children as well as their elders were continually finding discrepancies between the teachings of the Bible and those of Mr. Jones, and Elsie was not a little relieved to learn that the time for which his services had been engaged had now nearly expired. She hoped there was no danger that he would be requested to remain.

One day as she was leaving the quarter, where she had been visiting the sick, Uncle Ben, now very old and feeble, accosted her respectfully.

"Missus, I'se be bery thankful to hab a little conversation wid you when it suits yo' convenience to talk to dis chile."

"What is it, Uncle Ben?" she asked.

"May I walk 'longside ob de Missus up to de house?" he returned.

"Certainly, Uncle Ben, if you feel strong enough to do so."

"Tank you, Missus; do dese ole limbs good to stretch 'em 'bout dat much. It's 'bout Massa Jones I'se want to converse wid you, Missus. I hear dey's talkin' 'bout invitin' him to stay, and I want to ascertain if you intends to put him ober dis church."

"I, Uncle Ben!" she exclaimed, "I put a minister over your church? I have no right and certainly no wish to do any such thing. It is for the members to choose whom they will have."

"But you pays de money and provides de house for him, Missus." "That is true; but it does not give me the right to say who he shall be. Only if you should choose one whose teachings I could not approve—one who was not careful to teach according to God's word—I should feel that I could not take the responsibility of supporting him."

"I'se glad of dat, Missus," he said with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes; "'cause I'se want de Bible truff and nuffin else. And young Massa Jones, he preach bery nice sometimes, but sometimes it 'pears like he disremembers what's in de bressed book, and contradicts it wid some of his own notions."

"Then you don't wish him to stay?"

"No, Missus, dat I don't! hopin' you won't be displeased wid me for sayin' it."

"Not at all, Uncle Ben: I find the very same objection to him that you do."

On reaching the house she bade the old man a kindly good-bye, and directed him to go to the kitchen and tell the cook, from her, to give him a good dinner, with plenty of hot, strong coffee.

Rosie and Walter were on the back veranda looking out for mamma.

"Oh we're so glad you've tum home, mamma!" cried Walter, running to meet her and claim a kiss.

"Yes, mamma, it seemed so long to wait," said Rosie, "and now there is a strange gentleman in the drawing-room, waiting to see you. He's been here a good while, and both grandpas are out."

"Then I must go to him at once. But I think he is not likely to detain me long away from you, darlings," the mother said.

She found the gentleman—a handsome man of middle age—looking not at all annoyed or impatient, but seemingly well entertained by Isa and Violet, who were there, chatting sociably together over some pretty fancy work, when he was shown in by the servant.

They withdrew after Isa had introduced Mrs. Travilla and Mr. Embury.

The former thought it a little singular when she learned that her caller's errand was the same with that of Uncle Ben, i.e., to talk about Mr. Jones and the propriety of asking him to take permanent charge of the two churches: yet with this difference—that he was personally not unfavorable to the idea.

"I like him very well, though he is not by any means Mr. Mason's equal as a preacher," he said, "and I think our little congregation can be induced to give him a call; but we are too few to support him unless by continuing the union with this church, so that the small salary we can give will still be supplemented by the very generous one you pay, and the use of the cottage you built for Mr. Mason. I am taking for granted, my dear Madame, that you intend to go on doing for your retainers here as you have hitherto."

"I do," she said, "in case they choose a minister whose teachings accord with those of the inspired word. I cannot be responsible for any other."

"And do those of Mr. Jones not come up to the standard?"

"I regret to have to say that they do not; his preaching is far from satisfactory to me; he makes nothing of the work of the Spirit, or the danger of grieving Him away forever; nothing of the danger of self-deception; instructing those who are in doubt about the genuineness of their conversion that they must not be discouraged, instead of advising them to go to Christ now and be saved, just as any other sinner must. I fear his teaching may lead some to be content with a false hope. Then he often speaks in a half hesitating way, which shows doubt and uncertainty, on his part, of truths which are taught most plainly and forcibly in scripture. In a word, his preaching leaves the impression upon me that he has no very thorough acquaintance with the Bible, and no very strong confidence in the infallibility of its teachings. Indeed so glaring are his contradictions of scripture, that even my young children have noticed them more than once or twice." "Really, Mrs. Travilla, you make out a strong case against him," remarked her interlocutor, after a moment's thoughtful silence, "and upon reflection I believe a true one. I am surprised at myself that I have listened with so little realization of the important defects in his system of theology. I was not ardently in favor of calling him before; now I am decidedly opposed to it."

He was about to take leave, but, the two Mr. Dinsmores coming in at that moment, resumed his seat, and the subject was reopened.

They soon learned that they were all of substantially the same opinion in regard to it.

In the course of the conversation some account was given Mr. Embury of the Sunday evening Bible study at Viamede.

He seemed much interested, and at length asked if he might be permitted to join them occasionally.

"My boys are away at school," he said, "my two little girls go early to bed, and my evenings are often lonely—since my dear Mary left me, now two years ago," he added with a sigh. "May I come, Mrs. Travilla?"

"Yes," she said, reading approval in the eyes of her father and grandfather, while her own tender heart sympathized with the bereaved husband, though at the same time her sensitive nature shrank from the invasion of their family circle by a stranger. He read it all in her speaking countenance, but could not deny himself the anticipated pleasure of making the acquaintance of so lovely a family group—to say nothing of the intellectual or spiritual profit to be expected from sharing in their searching of the scriptures.

Mr. Embury was a man of liberal education and much general information—one who read and thought a good deal and talked well.

The conversation turned upon literature, and Mr. Dinsmore presently carried him off to the library to show him some valuable books recently purchased by himself and his daughter.

They were still there when the tea-bell rang, and being hospitably urged to remain and partake of the meal with the family, Mr. Embury accepted the invitation with unfeigned pleasure.

All were present even down to little Walter, and not excepting poor Molly.

Her apartments at Viamede being on the same floor with dining-room, library and parlors, she joined the family gatherings almost as frequently as any one else—indeed whenever she preferred the society of her relatives to the seclusion of her own room.

Mr. Embury had occasionally seen her at church. Her bright, intellectual face and crippled condition had excited his interest and curiosity, and in one way and another he had learned her story. Truth to tell, one thing that had brought him to Viamede was the desire to make her acquaintance—though Molly and the rest were far from suspecting it at the time.

He had no definite motive for seeking to know her, except that his large, generous heart was drawn out in pity for her physical infirmity, and filled with admiration of her cheerfulness under it, and the energy and determination she had shown in carving out a career for herself, and steadily pursuing it spite of difficulties and discouragements that would have daunted many a weaker spirit.

She had less of purely physical beauty than any other lady present, her mother excepted, yet there was something in her face that would have attracted attention anywhere; and her conversational powers were enviable, as Mr. Embury discovered in the course of the evening, for so delightful did he find the society of these new friends, both ladies and gentlemen, that he lingered among them until nearly ten o'clock, quite oblivious of the flight of time until reminded of it by the striking of the clock.

"Really, Mrs. Travilla," he said, rising to take leave, "I owe you an apology for this lengthened visit, which has somehow taken the place of my intended call; but I must beg you to lay the blame where it should fall, on the very great attractiveness of your family circle." "The apology is quite out of proportion to the offence, sir," she returned, with a kindly smile; "so we grant you pardon, and shall not refuse it for a repetition of the misdeed."

"I wish," he said, glancing round from one to another, "that you would all make me a return in kind. I will not say that Magnolia Hall is equal to Viamede, but it is called a fine place, and I can assure you of at least a hearty welcome to its hospitalities."