shame to civilization and Christianity. Philip controlled his voice and
his manner admirably, but he drove the truth home and spared not. His
voice at no time rose above a quiet conversational tone, but it was
clear and distinct. The audience sat hushed in the spell of a genuine
sensation, which deepened when, at the close of a tremendous sentence,
which swept through the church like a red-hot flame, Mr. Winter suddenly
arose in his pew, passed out into the aisle, and marched deliberately
down and out of the door. Philip saw him and knew the reason, but
marched straight on with his message, and no one, not even his anxious
wife, who endured martyrdom for him that morning, could detect any
disturbance in Philip from the mill-owner's contemptuous withdrawal.

When Philip closed with a prayer of tender appeal that the Spirit of
Truth would make all hearts to behold the truth as one soul, the
audience remained seated longer than usual, still under the influence of
the subject and the morning's sensational service. All through the day
Philip felt a certain strain on him, which did not subside even when the
evening service was over. Some of the members, notably several of the
mothers, thanked him, with tears in their eyes, for his morning message.
Very few of the men talked with him. Mr. Winter did not come out to the
evening service, although he was one of the very few men members who
were invariably present. Philip noted his absence, but preached with his
usual enthusiasm. He thought a larger number of strangers was present
than he had seen the Sunday before. He was very tired when the day was
over.

The next morning, as he was getting ready to go out for a visit to one
of the mills, the bell rang. He was near the door and opened it. There
stood Mr. Winter. "I would like to see you a few moments, Mr. Strong, if
you can spare the time," said the mill-owner, without offering to take