soon to be the last of the Churchills.

He meant, this grim old man, to live long enough to greet the boy whom
he remembered first as a baby, then as a little chap of ten, and later
as a shy boy of seventeen.

Joshua Churchill had been to India several times. But he had never
stayed long. He said that no man who had spent the greater part of his
life in Green Valley could ever be happy or feel at home anywhere else.

Joshua Churchill went to India to see his daughter and grandson; but
mostly to coax that daughter's wonderful husband to give up his
fanatically zealous work among the heathen of the Orient and come and
live in peace and plenty in a little Yankee town where there was a drug
store and a post office and a mossy gray old stone church with a mellow
bell in its steeple.

The wonderful and big son-in-law always listened respectfully to his
big Yankee father-in-law. Then he would smile and point to the little
brown babies lying sick in their mothers' arms.

"Somebody," he would say gently, "must help and heal and neighbor with
these people."

As there was no answer that could be made to this the Yankee
father-in-law said nothing. But the very last time he was in India he
looked sharply at his daughter and then said wearily and bitterly:

"Sinner and saint--we men are all alike. We each in our own way kill
the women we love. Cynthia is dying for a sight of Green Valley and