That Grandfather would give up the children without a struggle was unlikely. When a month had passed and they had not reappeared at service, he went to visit his son-in-law, taking Amos with him. It was Sunday evening and the church bells were ringing. He carried a long staff, and looked, with his silvery beard and his unearthly expression, exactly like the early pilgrims, worn by vigils and fasting, who had set out from this spot in summer's heat and winter's cold to gather into the Net of Heavenly Wisdom all who were willing to be caught therein. Across this undulating land, then thickly forested, had traveled not only Seventh-Day Baptists, but Moravian and Mennonite, Dunker, Quaker, and New Mooner, all on journeys which were concerned with the salvation of souls, all anticipating the coming of the Celestial Bridegroom. They had not walked on a smooth road comfortably as did Grandfather and Amos, but with sandaled, stumbling feet in narrow paths, from which they stepped to let pass a single Indian warrior or perchance a horde going noisily to Lancaster with squaws and papooses, worn old horses and dirty impedimenta, to exchange, for a few hundred pounds, mountains and valleys, great rivers and dense forests.

Grandfather walked silently, his head bowed, and Amos, stepping behind him at the approach of a team, kept that position, his head bent like the old man's.

The beauty of the evening weaned Grandfather for a little while from his anxiety. The wheat was gathered and in the barns, the corn was taller than his head. Over everything streamed a golden light like the imagined light from the portals of the heavenly city. He had often fancied himself laying down his earthly burdens on such an evening, and he had long desired to go. He was desperately tired of life with its complications and unaccountable contradictions. For an instant he wondered whether any future could be better than one of entire rest and blankness of mind, of such sleep as visited the very weary—heavy and uninterrupted by dreams.

Then, with horror, he drove away such speculations. Was he to lose in a moment's doubting in his old age that heaven which he had desired from his youth? Moreover, the most important duty of his life still lay before him, the strengthening of the young in the faith so that the truth should not be left without witnesses. There was Amos of whose devotion he was sure, but the life of a single man was a slender barrier to set up before the waves of indifference and disbelief which were engulfing the world. If he could not count upon his grandchildren, there was no one left. He gauged with a keen eye the quality of the rest of his flock. Feeling suddenly the need of an assurance from his solitary disciple, he called Amos, who stepped to his side, pleased to obey promptly.

"Amos, it will not be long till I am gone."

"Don't say that, Uncle!"

"It is so in the nature of things and I would not have it otherwise. I intend to leave you so that you will need to feel no anxiety about your daily bread. What else I have will go to my grandchildren under certain conditions and some also to the fund to help the repairs. It is a heavy responsibility you have on you, but our founder said that wherever there is a man who has a receptive mind there will the Spirit enter in."

Amos's golden head bent humbly.

"I have no ambition to be prominent, Uncle. I wish there was some one else."

"There is no one else. Besides, you have been trained; there is no one but you to decipher the old writings. If anything should happen to me suddenly, it will be your duty to look after these children. It is my firm belief that Matthew is ours without any question, but it is different with little Ellen. You have her in school; everything will rest with you."

Amos's delicate skin showed a bright color even in the gathering twilight. He had begun to believe that he had unsuitable thoughts about Ellen, that he had noted with unseemly keenness the changes in her youthful figure. It would be sad if at last temptation should come to him in the form of sweet little Ellen, his pupil! He believed that thus the devil answered his desire to remain celibate. Before he had formed this intention, he had not been troubled. He did not quite hold with St. Chrysostom that a woman was a wicked work of nature covered with a shining varnish, but he did believe that she was a serious obstacle to the spiritual life.

There was a light in Dr. Levis's office where he sat reading. Ellen had gone with Mrs. Sassaman to her church, and to their surprise Matthew had brought round the double carriage and had taken the driver's seat.

Levis called "Come in," without laying down his book. When he saw his guests, he sprang up and pushed out two chairs. Now that Ellen was studying and Matthew had gone to the Lutheran church, he felt a little pity for Grandfather Milhausen.

"Sit down," he invited. "This is a very pleasant evening."

The circumstances of his visit to the Kloster were now reversed—it was Grandfather who had no desire to discuss the character of the weather, and to his son-in-law's remark he made no reply. Levis looked at him critically. He must be considerably over seventy, but he might live to be a hundred.

Then Levis looked at Amos whose beauty though unpleasant was extraordinary—what a sensation he would create among artists!—he might even, with his aureole and his silky beard, produce a sensation upon a city street. Levis wondered with amusement what Amos would say to a suggestion that he allow his body to be made a delight to the eye for centuries, like that of a certain youthful model of St. John.

Grandfather clasped both hands over the head of his stick and leaned forward. His keen eyes fell upon the book which Levis was reading—he knew enough of books to be certain that this was no religious work.

"Edward, I have come to speak again about the children for whom I am accountable. I didn't believe you when you said they shouldn't come to meeting. It seemed that you could not be guilty of such short-sightedness and wickedness."

"I meant exactly what I said—that they should go no longer to the meeting of the Seventh-Day Baptists. This evening they have gone with the housekeeper to the Lutheran church."

"Not Matthew!"

"Yes, Matthew. He went of his own accord. I hope they'll go to other churches, all the churches. Then they'll realize that much that you teach is taught elsewhere, and that will be a step gained."

"The Lutherans are worldly and they don't believe in trine immersion!" Grandfather's voice thundered.

"What do you suppose the Lutherans would say about you? It's only fair that the children should hear both."

"That isn't the way to train children. They should be taught, line upon line, precept upon precept, so that truth is fixed in their minds firmly."

"You've had your chance to fix it firmly."

"I'd like to see them," said Grandfather. If there had been the slightest break in his voice, if his tone had expressed a hundredth part of the misery within him, Levis would have replied more gently. But Levis thought of him only as a bigoted, hard old man.

"You may come here and see them at any time."

"It isn't suitable that I should come to see my grandchildren when they are able to come to see me."

"I'll send for you. I'll drive down and get you myself when you want to come. But the children can't go to meeting, I won't allow it. The other day I passed the door of the Saal and it was open and I went in. It is incredible that you can hold services there. It ought to be torn down; it's like a cave for dampness. I would as soon bury Ellen and Matthew as let them continue under the influence of that place. It's a crime to stand still when the thought of the whole world is changing."

"We've one business in life, to serve God and obey Him. We're not to follow changing winds."

Levis moved impatiently.

"Your lot may have been cast in those dim, musty, horrible places. The lot of my boy and girl is cast in the world where they've got to be better fortified than your doctrine would fortify them. They've got to stand on their own feet and think for themselves. They know right and wrong; the rest they'll have to work out."

Grandfather leaned forward, scorn upon his trembling lips.

"What have you worked out? The doctrine of the Trinity? Or trine immersion? Or salvation by faith? Any of these doctrines?"

"None of them," answered Levis lightly. "Not a single one of them."

"You will be eternally destroyed," warned Grandfather, truly appalled.

"Well," said Levis—then he felt ashamed. There was no use in further horrifying an old man of whom he had so obviously the upper hand. "You and I shouldn't discuss this subject. Each of us knows what the other thinks and there's no likelihood of either of us changing." He tried to recall some pleasant subject upon which he and his father-in-law could agree. Grandfather was not interested in politics, and still less in several wonderful medical discoveries which Levis read about with eyes agleam like those of a traveler at sight of a new continent. Grandfather held the practice of medicine to be useless idling.

"We've had a good harvest," said Levis, at last.

Grandfather stood upright. His beard was blown to one side by a sudden breeze which made the flame of the lamp waver.

"Edward, I ask you once more for the souls of these children!"

"Nonsense," answered Levis. "Their souls aren't mine! If you're going home, you'd better let me drive you down."

Grandfather made a rejecting gesture and walked toward the door. Then he saw that Amos had not risen, but sat, turned in his chair, looking at a little table by the window upon which lay several schoolbooks, a tablet, and two pencils. There was also a glass of water with a few rosebuds in it. A sharp suspicion shot through Amos's heart. Was Ellen studying in advance of her class? Then she would not come back! Burning red dyed his cheeks; he felt that Grandfather and Levis must both be able to read in his heart the emotions which boiled and raged there, putting his salvation in jeopardy.

"Is Ellen studying in summer?" he asked tremulously. "These look like her books."

"Yes," answered Levis. "You've given her a good foundation, Amos, and she has a good mind. But she must move more rapidly, or she'll get into lazy habits."

"I could give her extra work," offered Amos, trembling.

"It isn't fair to ask you to do that. I'll teach her myself till she goes away."

"Is she going away?" asked Amos.

"She'll have to go to finish her education."

"She'll not need education beyond what she can get in school," said Grandfather. Here was a new and greater danger!

"Oh, yes, she will!"

"What do you mean to make of Ellen?"

Until this moment her father had had no definite plans about what he should do with Ellen once her mind was trained. Now he expressed a sudden alluring thought. She had shown certain aptitudes; even before his sentence was finished it seemed to him that the idea had long been forming.

"I may make a doctor of Ellen."

At that the ticking of the old clock in the corner could be plainly heard. Grandfather was amazed and frightened; Amos felt actually dizzy as though the world were whirling.

"Of Ellen!" they said together.

Levis began to elaborate the idea.

"I wish Ellen to earn her own living. Dependence upon any one after one is grown is bad. I wish her to be perfectly independent even of the man she marries, to be able to say to him if necessary, 'I don't need you.' She must have a profession, and it's natural that she has inherited some aptitude for medicine. I mean to give her every opportunity. I'm going to prepare her for college as rapidly as I think wise, and when she is through college she is to go to a medical school if she wishes."

To Grandfather this was the raving of a madman.

"You would turn the world upside down!" he cried.

Levis made no answer. He heard the carriage at the door and Ellen and Mrs. Sassaman coming in. He wished that they had not returned so soon, but here they were. He hoped that his visitors would depart before Matthew finished his work at the barn.

Ellen ran in, her cheeks aglow. When she saw her grandfather, she hurried forward.

"Why, Grandfather, when did you come?"

"A little while ago." There was a quiver under his long beard.

"And Amos! Amos, I'm studying with Father and I'm not coming back to school."

"So I hear," answered Amos.

After this no one spoke, but all looked at Ellen with hunger in their eyes. Standing between them, she felt uncomfortable. She loved them and she knew that they did not feel kindly toward one another. A week ago she would have offered to sit on her grandfather's knee, or she would have taken her fine collection of correct "examples" to show her teacher. Now she moved backward toward her father, who laid his hands on her shoulders and held her close to him.

"I'm studying with Father," said she, as though she were defending him. "Some day I'm going to be an honor to him."

The words echoed in two disturbed hearts until the gate of the Kloster was reached.