his heavy fur cap, under which his long, thin hair floated far behind.

Both were on horseback, and the day was warm. Under the circumstances, and especially under such an overcoat, what must have been the temperature !

"Who is that queer-looking chap with young Boyd?" "Oh, that's his fatherhe has come in a distance of seventy miles, riding one horse and leading the other, to take his son back with him."

A ride "into the mountains" was the exhilarating feature of one fine day. Shortly after leaving Berea we came to the newly acquired mountain property which a wise and far-seeing donor has contributed as an annex to the College-a property of many hundred acres, containing two of the noblest mountain peaks of the "Appalachian " region.

Here are rare opportunities for the Professor of Forestry, who can train his young men practically on the treatment and use of the timber of their own mountains and here is a wildly picturesque park that is likely in time to be famous.

A few miles beyond we came to the little hamlet of " Rips Knob," a settlement of forty or fifty houses. Several churches were in evidence, all dilapidated and uncared for.

"A great opportunity for Church federation," I remarked.

"Nowhere more needed," my friend replied.

"What church is that--just ahead?" "The Seventh Day Baptist." "And that at the left?" "The Independent."

"And the one with the white belfry?" "The Free Will Baptist."

"And the little brown one under the chestnuts?"

"The Disciples."

"Ah! there's yet another-just up the

hill!"

"Yes, that's the new Temperance Church."

"What did they want a temperance church for ?"

"Well, from what I have heard I judge some were tired of the old churches and

wanted something new; they thought a temperance church would be a refreshing novelty."

"What do they do in the way of temperance?"

"They take a temperance pledge on joining the church."

"What kind of a pledge?"

"A pledge against liquor-each candidate pledges that he will not personally consume more than forty gallons of whisky in a year!"

We did not pause to take vows at the "Temperance Church," but shook the dust from our feet, and the overchurched community of "Rips Knob" was soon left in the distance as we wound our way through the mountains.

At length we came to a long, narrow valley declared to be "one of the toughest portions of Kentucky "-its little community degraded by ignorance, drunkenness, and crime.

"Some time ago," said my host, "a young lady traveling in this part of the State heard of it, and was interested to visit the people. Their very degradation seemed to appeal to her strongly, and, making herself a temporary nest in a log cabin, she lived among them for a summer. When it ended, she returned to her home in one of the great cities, but her kind

friends and pleasant surroundings did not content her as before, for she could not cease thinking by day or by night of the wretched people of the distant valleyshe had an intense longing to be with them. Gradually her health became impaired, and the family physician told her parents that she must be allowed to return if her life was to be saved. So a more comfortable cabin-a two-room log cabin-was built for her by some of the students of Berea, and here she made her home, her only companion being a young girl of the neighborhood."

"What a life of isolation !" I exclaimed; "with only the degraded people as neighbors-shut off from all that we hold most dear! Is she even safe there?"

"Oh, yes, entirely so, for she is greatly loved-no one would think of harming her; there is not one but would protect her if needed."

Here again was that peculiar strain of Kentucky character that even in degradation had an element of nobility.

We soon were in view of the neat, new log cabin, its two rooms separated by a space the width of a room (all under the cover of one roof), which might serve as a kind of piazza in warm weather, or be easily inclosed in winter. The cabin nestled under the great mountain peak

which overshadowed it; not far from it was another and older cabin which I was told she used for religious services on the Sabbath and at other times. As we approached, a pleasant and intelligent looking woman, about thirty years of age, I came forth and bid us welcome to her "shack," which seemed very neat and comfortable, although extremely primitive in its arrangements.

"How lonely you must be here!"

"Oh, no, I have a-plenty to occupy me -people will get sick, or in trouble, you know, and the people here seem to have peculiar facilities in those directions."

"You hold services among them, I am told. Where do you gather them?"

"Right in the cabin next door, and it is well packed, I assure you; on Sundays there are from ninety to a hundred, on Wednesday evenings from fifty to sixty."

"But it seems to me you are quite helpless. Is there not much connected with the work for which a man's aid is needed?"

"Oh, well, I usually get it when wanted; just now I'm a little badly off, for my best all-around' man has been drunk for two days."

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"Indeed! and is that a specimen of your best people? Pray, what hope have you for the result of your labors?"

"Little or none as far as the adults are concerned-that is, in the way of reformyet there is opportunity to do a great deal in the way of kindness and comfort for them. But my main hope is for the young. I think I see an excellent prospect of shaping many of their lives in ways of goodness and usefulness. I really have a great deal of encouragement among them."

As we took our departure the sun was hiding itself behind the great peak, and the cabin had fallen into deep shadow and insignificance, but it contained a real heroine, whose life, seemingly in shadow, had a sunshine of its own-the only light of that entire neighborhood.

COPYRIGHT, 1901, FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY

Chapter XVII.-Le Noir's New

T

Master

HE shantymen came back home to find the Revival still going on. Not a home but had felt its mighty power, and not a man, woman, or even child but had come more or less under its influence. Indeed, so universal was that power that Yankee was heard to say, "The boys wouldn't go in swimmin' without their New Testaments "-not but that Yankee was in very fullest sympathy with the movement. He was regular in his attendance upon the meetings all through spring and summer, but his whole previous history made it difficult for him fully to appreciate the intensity and depth of the religious feeling that was everywhere throbbing through the community.

"Don't see what the excitement's for," he said to Macdonald Bhain one night after meeting. "Seems to me the Almighty just wants a feller to do the right thing by his neighbor and not be too independent, but go 'long kind o' humble like and keep clean. Somethin' wrong with me, perhaps, but I don't seem to be able to work up no excitement about it. I'd like to, but somehow it ain't in me."

When Macdonald Bhain reported this difficulty of Yankee's to Mrs. Murray, she only said:

"What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" And with this Macdonald Bhain was content, and when he told Yankee, the latter came as near to excitement as he ever allowed himself. He chewed vigorously for a few moments, then, slapping his thigh, he exclaimed:

"By jings! That's great. She's all She's all right, ain't she? We ain't all built the

same way, but I'm blamed if I don't like her model."

But the shantymen noticed that the Revival had swept into the church, during the winter months, a great company of the young people of the congregation; and of these, a band of some ten or twelve young men, with Don among them, were attending daily a special class carried on in the vestry of the church for those who desired to enter training for the ministry.

Mrs. Murray urged Ranald to join this class, for, even though he had no intention of becoming a minister, still the study would be good for him, and would help him in his after career. She remembered how Ranald had told her that he had no intention of being a farmer or lumberman. And Ranald gladly listened to her, and threw himself into his study, using his spare hours to such good purpose throughout the summer that he easily kept pace with the class in English, and distanced them in his favorite subject, mathematics.

But all these months Mrs. Murray felt that Ranald was carrying with him a load of unrest, and she waited for the time when he would come to her. His uncle, Macdonald Bhain, too, shared her anxiety in regard to Ranald.

"He is the fine, steady lad," he said one night, walking home with her from the church; "and a good winter's work has he put behind him. He is that queeck there is not a man like him on the drive; but he is not the same boy that he was He will not be telling me anything, but when the boys will be sporting, he is not with them. He will be reading his book, or he will be sitting by himself alone. He is like his father in the courage of him. There is no kind of water he will not face, and no man on the river would put fear on him. And the strength of him! His

arms are like steel. But," returning to his anxiety, "there is something wrong with him. He is not at peace with himself, and I wish you could get speech with him."

"I would like it, too," replied Mrs. Murray. "Perhaps he will come to me. At any rate, I must wait for that.”

At last, when the summer was over, and the harvest all gathered in, and the days were once more shortening for the fall, Ranald drove Lisette one day to the Manse, and went straight to the minister's wife and opened up his mind to her.

"I cannot keep my promise to my father, Mrs. Murray," he said, going at once to the heart of his trouble. "I cannot keep the anger out of my heart. I cannot forgive the man that killed my father. I will be waking at night with the very joy of feeling my fingers on his throat, and I feel myself longing for the day when I will meet him face to face and nothing between us. But," he added, "I promised my father, and I must keep my word, and that is what I cannot do, for the feeling of forgiveness is not here," smiting his breast. "I can keep my hands off him, but the feeling I cannot help."

For a long time Mrs. Murray let him go on without seeking to check the hot flow of his words and without a word of reproof. Then, when he had talked himself to silence, she took her Bible and read to him of the servant who, though forgiven, took his fellow-servant by the throat, refusing to forgive. And then she turned over the leaves and read once more: "God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'"

of that. But when I think of that man, something stirs within me and I cannot see, for the daze before my eyes, and I know that some day I will be at him. I cannot help my feeling."

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"have

Ranald," said Mrs. Murray, you ever thought how he will need God's mercy, like yourself? And have you never thought that perhaps he has never had the way of God's mercy put before him? To you the Lord has given much, to him little. It is a terrible thing to be ungrateful for the mercy of God; and it is a shameful thing. It is unworthy of any true man. How can any one take the fullness of God's mercy and his patience every day, and hold an ungrateful heart?"

She did not spare him, and as Ranald sat and listened, his life and character began to appear to him small and mean and unworthy.

"The Lord means you to be a noble man, Ranald—a man with the heart and purpose to do some good in the world, to be a blessing to his fellows; and it is a poor thing to be so filled up with selfishness as to have no thought of the honor of God or of the good of men. Louis Le Noir has done you a great wrong, but what is that wrong compared with the wrong you have done to Him who loved you to His own death?"

Then she gave him her last word: "When you see Louis Le Noir, think of God's mercy, and remember you are to do him good and not evil.”

And with that word in his heart, Ranald went away, ashamed and humbled, but not forgiving. The time for that had not yet come. But before he left for the

I

"I know," he said, deliberately; "I have read that often through the winter, but it does not help the feeling I have. think it only makes it worse. There is some one holding my arm, and I want to strike."

"And do you forget," said Mrs. Murray, and her voice was almost stern, "and do you forget how, for you, God gave his Son to die?"

Ranald shook his head. "I am far from forgetting that."

"And are you forgetting the great mercy of God to your father?"

"No, no," said Ranald, "I often think

say "good-by." He met her with a shamed face, fearing that she must feel nothing but contempt for him.

"You will think ill of me," he said, and in spite of his self-control his voice shook. "I could not bear that."

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No, I could never think ill of you, Ranald, but I would be grieved to think that you should fail of becoming a noble man, strong and brave-strong enough to forgive and brave enough to serve."

Once more Ranald went to the woods, with earnest thoughts in his mind, hoping he should not meet Le Noir, and fighting out his battle to victory; and by the time the drive had reached the big water next