He made no answer, still stood silent.  But he no longer looked at me with his sharp eyes.  They had retired beneath his shaggy eyebrows as though he would search his own soul through and through, and read its verdict.  He told me afterwards the story of his battle; I guessed it even then.

“We may not agree on the Gospel of John, Mr. Gear,” said I, “but we shall not quarrel about the Golden Rule and the Sermon on the Mount.”

“Mr. Laicus,” said Mr. Gear at length, very slowly.  “I thank you for coming to me, I thank you for speaking plainly and frankly as you have; I thank you for the respect which you have shown to my convictions.  They are honest, and were not arrived at without a struggle and some self sacrifice.  You are the first Christian,” he added bitterly “that ever paid them the regard of a respectful hearing.  I will join you in that Bible Class for this winter, and I will prove to you, infidel that I am, that I as well as a Christian, can respect convictions widely different from my own.  If we quarrel it shall not be my fault.”

“I believe you, Mr. Gear,” said I.  “God helping me it shall not be mine, and there’s my hand upon it.”

He grasped it warmly.

“When shall we begin?” said I.

“Next Sunday.”

“Where?” said I.

“As you please?” said he.

“Here, or in my house, or at the church parlors, or wherever we can gather the young men,” said I.

“The mill school-house is better than either,” said he.  “The boys will come there.  They are used to it.”

“The mill school-house be it,” said I.  “Next Sunday afternoon at 3 o’clock.  I will bring the Bibles; you will bring the boys.”

“As many as I can,” said he.

“Jennie,” said I that evening.  “Mr. Gear and I are going to take the Bible Class together.”

Tears stood in her eyes as she looked up at me with that smile I love so much.  But she only said.  “I knew you would succeed John.”

CHAPTER X.

The Deacon’s Second Service.

It has been made the subject of some comment lately that Deacon Goodsole habitually absents himself from our Sabbath evening service.  The pastor called the other day to confer with me on the subject; for he has somehow come to regard me as a convenient adviser, perhaps because I hold no office and take no very active part in the management of the Church, and so am quite free from what may be called its politics.  He said he thought it quite unfortunate; not that the Deacon needed the second service himself, but that, by absenting himself from the house of God, he set a very bad example to the young people of the flock.  “We cannot expect,” said he, somewhat mournfully, “that the young people will come to Church, when the elders themselves stay away.”  At the same time he said he felt some delicacy about talking with the Deacon himself on the subject.  “Of course,” said he, “if he does not derive profit from my discourses I do not want to dragoon him into hearing them.”