reticent man, and allowed no one to meddle with his thoughts.

She had now nearly regained her usual strength, and the time drew near for
her to attend church. One morning, after a pleasant ride of unusual length,
drawing near home, the father broke out in tremulous tones: "Now, Betsey,
you won't go with the Methodists any more, will you? I can't allow it--no
more at all. I command you to have nothing more to do with that people."

They had reached the block, and the agitated girl hastened to her room, and
most of the day and evening she was seeking the "wisdom that cometh from
above." She easily settled all questions but one. She saw clearly what
system of doctrines she must subscribe to and advocate and exemplify; what
means of grace she needed and must have and honor by her attendance; and
she knew where her heart centered, and where her covenant vows must be
taken and fellowship cultivated and enjoyed. All was plain as noonday
except her father's commands and her duty to him. This last problem she
laid before the Lord; and no sooner was it fully committed to him than the
Holy Spirit quoted the filial duty with a peculiar emphasis to her heart:
"Obey your parents in the Lord." "He that loveth father or mother more than
Me is not worthy of Me."

Her line of duty was now fully decided, cost what it might. Saturday
morning they were again in their saddles, and side by side, beginning a
long ride in silence. Elizabeth was desirous of telling her story and
kindly explaining her views of duty, and, obtaining permission, she began
at the beginning and rehearsed the dealings of God with her up to that
hour. She then declared her filial affection and her readiness to obey
implicitly in all matters where duty to God and conscience would permit.
Finally, she appealed to her father "not to hinder or embarrass her, seeing
the Lord had so marvelously rescued her from the power of the enemy and