think, 'Oh, no, he isn't my husband, not really,--he is just a good
angel God sent to keep me out of mischief.' And while you are
preaching I never think, 'He is mine.' I always think, 'He is God's.'"

Tears came into her eyes as she spoke, and David drew her close in his
arms.

"Do you, sweetheart? It seems a terrible thing to stand up there
before a houseful, of people, most of them good, and clean, and full of
faith, and try to direct their steps in the broader road. I sometimes
feel that men are not fit for it. There ought to be angels from
Heaven."

"But there are angels from Heaven watching over them, David, guiding
them, showing them how. I believe good white angels are guiding every
true minister,--not the bad ones-- Oh, I know a lot about ministers,
honey,--proud, ambitious, selfish, vainglorious, hypocritical, even
amorous, a lot of them,--but there are others, true ones,--you, David,
and some more. They just have to grow together until harvest, and then
the false ones will be dug up and dumped in the garbage."

For a while they were silent.

Finally he asked, smiling a little, "Are you getting cramped, Carol?
Are you getting narrow, and settling down to a rut? Have you lost your
enthusiasm and your sparkle?"

Carol laughed at him. "David, do you remember the first night we were
married, when we knelt down together to say our prayers and you put
your arm around my shoulder, and we prayed there, side by side?