“Yes, that is the very word he uses,” replied Will. “He tried to tell us all about it, but we could not see through it. He says he does not care for the things of the world, and he means by that that he cares nothing for any of the good times out with the boys. And he certainly acts as if he did not care, and prays and reads his Bible! Says grace at the table like a preacher. I admire his pluck.”
“What church does he belong to?” asked Mother Hilman, her admiration increasing for the boy under discussion.
“That is another of his queer notions. He passed by all the fine churches and hunted up a little baud of people who have a mission on a side street there, and worships with them because he says they are more spiritual.”
“We have such a band of people here.”
“Have you? I will tell Austin when he comes, for he will not stay away from the children long. I think it is the mission that keeps him there for one thing. He hates to leave the people, and he has a Sunday-school class.”
“Do tell him to come. We shall be glad to have him with us.”
“Mrs. Hilman, Austin is here already. I saw him over in town last night and told him about your meeting, and he said to tell you he would be there without fail next Sunday,” said Will, when he saw her a few days later.
When the Hilmans went to church the next Sunday, they saw a strange young man in one of the rear benches. At once they recognized him as a brother of Wilbur Hill. As it was early, not yet time to begin the service, they went to him to make his acquaintance.
“Is this Austin Hill?” asked Mother Hilman in her kindest tones.
“Yes, that is my name,” answered Austin.