possessions, as might be necessary.

A note from Mr. Walton arrived about that time. It was written in his
frank, simple, hearty way, congratulating both the men on the stand they
had taken. Referring to Tim's desire for fellowship in his new effort, of
which Mr. Walton had heard, he added, "There is another who will stand by
you, the Great Brother who came as a babe at Bethlehem, and Christmas will
soon remind us of it. Feeling for us and loving us, he at last died for
us. Ask him to stand with you. He came to help just such poor weak fellows
as we all are."

That touched the "firm," and the next Sunday they both sat in a back seat
near the stove by the church-door. As Tim Tyler sat there in old St.
John's and heard the dreary wind roaring without, he thought of the
fishing-boats that scud before such winds anxious to make port and reach
home.

"That's me, I hope, trying to get home," he thought, "and find harbor in
God's Church, will hold us all."




CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW DEPARTURE.


Again the club was only a memory. It was like a walking-stick that, when
the mountain-tramp is over, the vacationist puts on the wall as a memento.