That Grandfather would give up the children without a struggle was unlikely. When a month had passed and they had not reappeared at service, he went to visit his son-in-law, taking Amos with him. It was Sunday evening and the church bells were ringing. He carried a long staff, and looked, with his silvery beard and his unearthly expression, exactly like the early pilgrims, worn by vigils and fasting, who had set out from this spot in summer's heat and winter's cold to gather into the Net of Heavenly Wisdom all who were willing to be caught therein. Across this undulating land, then thickly forested, had traveled not only Seventh-Day Baptists, but Moravian and Mennonite, Dunker, Quaker, and New Mooner, all on journeys which were concerned with the salvation of souls, all anticipating the coming of the Celestial Bridegroom. They had not walked on a smooth road comfortably as did Grandfather and Amos, but with sandaled, stumbling feet in narrow paths, from which they stepped to let pass a single Indian warrior or perchance a horde going noisily to Lancaster with squaws and papooses, worn old horses and dirty impedimenta, to exchange, for a few hundred pounds, mountains and valleys, great rivers and dense forests.
Grandfather walked silently, his head bowed, and Amos, stepping behind him at the approach of a team, kept that position, his head bent like the old man's.
The beauty of the evening weaned Grandfather for a little while from his anxiety. The wheat was gathered and in the barns, the corn was taller than his head. Over everything streamed a golden light like the imagined light from the portals of the heavenly city. He had often fancied himself laying down his earthly burdens on such an evening, and he had long desired to go. He was desperately tired of life with its complications and unaccountable contradictions. For an instant he wondered whether any future could be better than one of entire rest and blankness of mind, of such sleep as visited the very weary—heavy and uninterrupted by dreams.
Then, with horror, he drove away such speculations. Was he to lose in a moment's doubting in his old age that heaven which he had desired from his youth? Moreover, the most important duty of his life still lay before him, the strengthening of the young in the faith so that the truth should not be left without witnesses. There was Amos of whose devotion he was sure, but the life of a single man was a slender barrier to set up before the waves of indifference and disbelief which were engulfing the world. If he could not count upon his grandchildren, there was no one left. He gauged with a keen eye the quality of the rest of his flock. Feeling suddenly the need of an assurance from his solitary disciple, he called Amos, who stepped to his side, pleased to obey promptly.
"Amos, it will not be long till I am gone."
"Don't say that, Uncle!"
"It is so in the nature of things and I would not have it otherwise. I intend to leave you so that you will need to feel no anxiety about your daily bread. What else I have will go to my grandchildren under certain conditions and some also to the fund to help the repairs. It is a heavy responsibility you have on you, but our founder said that wherever there is a man who has a receptive mind there will the Spirit enter in."
Amos's golden head bent humbly.
"I have no ambition to be prominent, Uncle. I wish there was some one else."
"There is no one else. Besides, you have been trained; there is no one but you to decipher the old writings. If anything should happen to me suddenly, it will be your duty to look after these children. It is my firm belief that Matthew is ours without any question, but it is different with little Ellen. You have her in school; everything will rest with you."