"If you please, ma'am, old Mr. Jerrold is very bad indeed, and Miss
Hannah wants the minister to come right off. Mr. Burton Jerrold is out
in the sleigh, waiting for him, and says he must hurry."

"Mr. Sanford go out such a night as this! It's impossible! He is half
sick now. What does old Mr. Jerrold want?" Mrs. Sanford said, sharply;
and Sam replied, as he shook down another mass of snow upon the carpet:

"Don't know; the Sacrament, mebby, as I guess he's going to die," and
the boy advanced a step or two into the warmly lighted room, where the
rector, who had risen to his feet, was beginning to divest himself of
his dressing-gown.

"Stay back; you have brought snow enough into the hall without spoiling
the parlor carpet, too," Mrs. Martha said, angrily; then, going to her
husband, whose purpose she divined, she continued; "Charles, are you
crazy, to think of going out in this storm?"

"But, my dear," the rector began, meekly, "if the poor old man is
dying--and Hannah would never have sent in such a storm unless she
thought so--if he is dying and desires the comfort of the communion,
shall I refuse it to him because of a little inconvenience to myself?
No, no; I have not so learned Christ. Please bring me my coat, Martha,
and my boots, and the little communion service."

"A pretty time of day to think of that, just as the candle is burned to
the snuff," Mrs. Martha retorted. "Here for years you have exhorted and
entreated him to be confirmed, and he has resisted all your appeals with
the excuse that for him to go to the Lord's table would be a mortal sin;
and now, just at the last, in such a storm, he sends for you. I consider