"It's beyond understanding," murmured the Rabbi. "I must have mistaken
one drawer for another in the midst of meditation"; and then, when
Barbara had swept out of the room with the varied linen on her arm,
"This is very humiliating, John, and hard to bear."

"Nonsense, Rabbi; it's one of the finest things you have ever done.
Half a dozen journeys of that kind would refurnish the manse; it's just
a pity you can't annex a chair"; but he saw that the good man was
sorely vexed.

"You are a good lad, John, and it is truly marvellous what charity I
have received at the hands of young men who might have scorned and
mocked me. God knows how my heart has been filled with gratitude, and
I . . . have mentioned your names in my unworthy prayers, that God may
do to you all according to the kindness ye have shown unto me."

It was plain that this lonely, silent man was much moved, and
Carmichael did not speak.

"People consider that I am ignorant of my failings and weaknesses, and
I can bear witness with a clear conscience that I am not angry when
they smile and nod the head; why should I be? But, John, it is known
to myself only, and Him before whom all hearts are open, how great is
my suffering in being among my neighbours as a sparrow upon the
house-top.

"May you never know, John, what it is to live alone and friendless till
you lose the ways of other men and retire within yourself, looking out
on the multitude passing on the road as a hermit from his cell, and
knowing that some day you will die alone, with none to . . . give you a