"Hush, Hannah! Charity,--charity; don't forget that you live in a
parsonage, where 'sounding brass or tinkling cymbals' are not
tolerated. All kinds of sorrow come here to be cured, and I fear that
lady is in distress. Did you notice how her voice trembled?"

"Well, I only hope no silver will be missing to-morrow. I must make
up my buckwheat, and set it to rise. Good-night, Miss Elise."

It was a tempestuous night in the latter part of January, and
although the rain, which had fallen steadily all day, ceased at dark,
the keen blast from the north shook the branches of the ancient trees
encircling the parsonage, and dashed the drops in showers against the
windows. Not a star was visible, and as the night wore on the wind
increased in violence, roaring through leafless elm limbs, and
whistling drearily around the corners of the old brick house, whose
ivy-mantled chimneys had battled with the storms of seventy years.

The hands of the china clock on the dining-room mantlepiece pointed
to nine, and Mrs. Lindsay expected to hear the clear sweet strokes of
the pendulum, when other sounds startled her; the sharp, shrill bark
of a dog, and impatient scratching of paws on the hall door. As she
hurried forward and withdrew the inside bolt, a middle-aged man
entered, followed by a bluish-grey Skye terrier.

"Peyton, what kept you so late?"

"I was called to Beechgrove to baptize Susan Moffat's only daughter.
The girl died at eight o'clock, and I sat awhile with the stricken
mother, trying to comfort her. Poor Susan! it is a heavy blow, for