"Justice and Mercy for my life
Contend! Oh, smile and heal the strife."
"YES, I was thinking of that. We will talk it over when we come together this evening. Just tell Deacon Griffin about it now, won't you? I want to speak to one of the boys. Excuse me." And Mr. Earle hurried down the aisle and out of the door.
"Herbert, one moment, please."
Herbert Bradford turned back to meet his pastor, wondering but pleased, for Mr. Earle was a favourite with the young people of his congregation, and his influence over them was something remarkable. He had that rare and happy faculty of making the shyest and most awkward schoolboy among them feel quite at ease in his presence, and the timid, self-conscious girl ceased to feel the hot blood mounting to her forehead, and forgot that she had two hands to be properly folded, and, too, he knew how to draw out hidden conversational powers, often quite astonishing the possessors themselves.
"I have a letter here from Tom Nichols," he said, as he joined Herbert. "I suppose you would like to read it?"
"Yes, sir, I always like Tom's letters. I wish he was back here. He is a capital fellow!" said Herbert, with enthusiasm.
"Yes, Tom is a fine boy, and his letters are always pleasant. But you will find this one different from any he ever wrote before. There's good news in it, Herbert," said Mr. Earle, with a little ripple of joy in his voice that was testimony as to the excellence of the "news."
Herbert looked up with a bit of wonder in his eyes; then, as it flashed upon him what the good news might be, he dropped his head and a sad look crept over his face. Mr. Earle's way led up the street and Herbert's down; so they parted at the first corner, without further talk, only the minister said, as he turned off—
"I wish, my boy, that you could write me just such a letter."
The other boys had gone on, and Herbert walked slowly along, opening the letter and reading it on the way. A part of it ran thus: