silent pallor to his exhortations. She
made no explanations for not coming
to his church regularly; she offered no
excuse of filial tenderness for her
indifference to her father's mistaken beliefs;
she looked down at her hands, clasped
tightly in her lap, then out of the window
at the big roan biting at the hitching-post
or standing very still to let Mary rub
his silky nose. But John Fenn looked
only at Philippa. Of her father's heresies
he would not, he said, do more than
remind her that the wiles of the devil
against her soul might present them-selves
through her natural affections;
but in regard to her failure to wait
upon the means of grace he spoke
without mercy, for, he said, "faithful
are the wounds of a friend."

"Are you my friend?" Philly asked,
lifting her gray eyes suddenly.

Mr. Fenn was greatly confused; the
text-books of the Western Seminary had
not supplied him with the answer to
such a question. He explained, hurriedly,
that he was the friend of all
who wished for salvation.