"'Forsaketh not all that he hath,'" quoted the old lady softly.
"Yes, but that's not for everybody," insisted Helen.
"'Whosoever,'" quoted Mrs. Macgregor again, with a stern relentlessness in her tone. "Ay, there will be no slipping out from under yon."
"But surely," argued Helen, "it is not reasonable to think that every young minister is bound to forsake home and friends, and all that, and go out to these wild places."
"Not every one will be called. The application will not be easy for any of us, I doubt. Oh, no! it will not be easy."
"But surely, Mrs. Macgregor, there are other claims upon men."
"There iss only one claim, lassie, only one claim. His claim is the first. All other claims will just be working out that first one. Ay, that's it," she said, as if arriving at decision, "only one claim. God peety us! One claim," she added with a sudden break in her voice.
At that break Helen glanced at the old lady. The strong face was working strangely. The tears were slowly making their way down the wrinkled face.
"Oh, Mrs. Macgregor!" exclaimed Helen, "that seems an awfully hard doctrine. Do you think God ever wants a man to leave father, mother, wife, helpless behind?"
"No, no, lassie, not helpless. But—," she could go no further. "But," she continued after a moment or two, clutching Helen by the arm, "he—will—be—going—away, lassie, he will be going away. He will be leaving me and—it iss the will of the Lord. Oh! lassie, lassie, heed me not. He must never see the tears on my face."