CHAPTER II.


Within a week, Philip Strong had moved to Milton, as the church wished
him to occupy the pulpit at once. The parsonage was a well-planned house
next the church, and his wife soon made everything look very homelike.
The first Sunday evening after Philip preached in Milton, for the first
time, he chatted with his wife over the events of the day as they sat
before a cheerful open fire in the large grate. It was late in the fall
and the nights were sharp and frosty.

"Are you tired to-night, Philip?" asked his wife.

"Yes, the day has been rather trying. Did you think I was nervous? Did I
preach well?" Philip was not vain in the least. He simply put the
question to satisfy his own exacting demand on himself in preaching. And
there was not a person in the world to whom he would have put such a
question except his wife.

"No, I thought you did splendidly. I felt proud of you. You made some
queer gestures, and once you put one of your hands in your pocket. But
your sermons were both strong and effective; I am sure the people were
impressed. It was very still at both services."

Philip was silent a moment. And his wife went on.

"I am sure we shall like it here, Philip; what do you think?"