window of the Rehoboth vestry lay on the newly-inscribed name, as
though heaven sealed with her assent the act of the old man who
felt himself the servant of the One who said, 'I will in no wise
cast out.'






IV.

SAVED AS BY FIRE


It was a narrow, gloomy yard, paved with rough flags dinted and
worn by the wheels of traffic and the tread of many feet. On one
side stood the factory, cheerless and gray, with its storied
heights, and long rows of windows that on summer evenings flamed
with the reflected caresses of the setting sun, and in the shorter
days of winter threw the light of their illuminated rooms like
beacon fires across the miles of moor. Flanking the factory were
sheds and outbuildings and warehouses, through the open doors of
which were seen skips and trollies and warps, and piles of cloth
pieces ready for the market in the great city beyond the hills.
Within a stone's-throw the sluggish river crept along its
blackened bed, no longer a stream fresh from the hills, but foul
with the service of selfish man.

It was breakfast hour, and the monotonous roar of machinery was