The preacher was coming over to supper one night, as he loved to do; and
J.W. made up his mind to bring Phil's idea into the table talk. He was
on even better terms with the preacher than he used to be.

J.W.'s mother hadn't said much about the Institute, though she had
listened eagerly to all his talk of the crowded week, and she was
vaguely ill at ease. She had hoped for something, she did not know just
what, from the Institute, and she was not yet sure whether she ought to
feel disappointed.

But she provided a fine supper, to which the menfolk paid the most
practical and sincere of all compliments. And since nobody had anything
else on for the evening, there was plenty of time for talk.

The mother had a moment aside with the minister, and there was a touch
of anxiety in her question: "Do you think the Institute helped my boy?"

And the pastor had just time to whisper back, "It helped him much, but
he gave even more help than he got You have reason to be proud of him. I
am. He's growing."

It was not very definite, but it brought no small comfort to the
mother's heart.

"This Institute idea seems to be everywhere," said J.W., Sr., to the
pastor, "but how did it get started? I used to be in the Epworth League,
but we had nothing like it then."

"That's not so very much of a story," said the pastor. "We have the