"It comes to me sometimes that my life was all wrong," sighed Grandfather. "In my youth I had a call to remain single. But I was like others—weak. When a Seventh-Day Baptist shall show by his life that he really believes the assurances of God, then the Spirit will descend in rich measure, and we shall have again our hundreds devoted to prayer and to good works."
A flattered Amos tightened the grasp of one hand upon another. He knew that he was the foundation upon which his uncle's hopes were built, but he had never heard it so plainly stated. He felt his heart burn, he seemed to see a light over the steep roof of the Saal, and he believed that a higher authority than his uncle was going to communicate with him. Then he saw a tall man approaching from the gate.
"There is some one here, Uncle."
"It's Levis," said a crisp and angry voice. "Father Milhausen, I want a few words with you."
"Sit down, Edward," said the old man.
"I'd rather talk where there's a light." Levis tried to keep his voice steady. He did not mean to have any of his words go trailing off into the darkness without hitting their mark. Moreover, he meant, if need be, to quarrel and perhaps to storm, and he did not think it decent to quarrel so near the white tombstone.
"All right, I'm willing." The old man rose. "Amos, make a light."
The coal-oil lamp revealed a little room which was at once kitchen and sitting-room. It contained a stove, now cold, a table, a shelf holding Latin and German books, and another holding specimens of ancient pottery. All was bare and neat.
The human element was far more interesting than the furniture. Old Milhausen stood for a moment stroking his white beard. His dark eyes, half covered by heavy lids, looked downward without seeing—he was praying for wisdom. Amos stood close to the table fitting a shade over the glaring light.
"Perhaps I'd better go," said he humbly. "I don't wish to be where I have no business."