Much that passed in the weeks following, cannot be written here. Mrs. Cameron's grief and anguish were too keen, too sacred, to be rendered in unsympathetic print. But sustained by that power which had ennobled the life of her husband, and kept by the promises of the faith that had strengthened him, she went on doing her part in the Master's work, waiting in loving patience the call that would unite them again.
A month after the news of Cameron's death reached Boyd City, the president of the Association called on Dick and spent an hour with him talking of the work. Before leaving, he said: "Mr. Falkner, in Rev. Cameron's letter to me, he strongly recommended that you be called to take the place left vacant as director of the Association. With your consent, I will announce that recommendation at our next meeting. But first, I would like to know what answer you would give."
Dick asked for a week to think over the matter, which was granted. And during that time he consulted Elder Wicks.
Uncle Bobbie only said, as he grasped his young friend by the hand, "Behold, I have set before you an open door." And Dick bowed his head in silent assent.
The same day, late in the afternoon, George Udell was bending over some work that he was obliged to finish before going home. His helper had gone to supper, and the boy, a new one in the office, was cleaning up preparatory to closing for the night. "Don't clean that press, Jim," said the printer, suddenly.
"What's the matter; don't you know that it's time to quit?" asked the tired youngster, a note of anxiety in his voice.
"You can quit," replied George, "but I am going to run off some of this stuff before I go." And he proceeded to lock up the form.
With a look of supreme disgust on his ink-stained countenance, the other removed his apron and vanished, as though fearing his employer might change his mind. At the foot of the stairs, the apprentice met Clara Wilson. "He's up there," he said with a grin, and hurried on out of the building, while the young lady passed slowly to the upper floor. The stamping of the press filled the room, and the printer, his eyes on his work, did not hear the door close behind the girl; and only when she stood at his elbow did he look up. The machine made three impressions on one sheet before he came to his senses; then he turned to the young lady inquiringly.
"I—I—thought I'd stop and ask you to come over to the house this evening; Mother wants to see you."
"Hum—m—m, anything important?" asked George, leaning against the press. "You see I'm pretty busy now." He shut off the power and stepped across the room as the phone rang. "Hello—Yes, this is Udell's—I'm sorry, but it will be impossible—We close at six you know. Come over first thing in the morning—Can't do it; it's past six now, and I have an important engagement to-night. All right. Good-bye."