of the problem of labor and capital; in brief, church work to-day in this town is whatever is most needed to be done to prove to this town that we are what we profess ourselves to be—­disciples of Jesus Christ.  That is the reason I give more time to the tenement district problem than to calling on families that are well, and in possession of great comforts and privileges.  That is the reason I call on this church to do Christ’s work in His name and give itself to save that part of our town.”

This is but the briefest of the sketches of Philip’s sermon.  It was a part of himself, his experience, his heart belief.  He poured it out on the vast audience with little saving of his vitality.  And that Sunday he went home at night exhausted, with a feeling of weariness partly due to his work during the week among the people.  The calls upon his time and strength had been incessant, and he did not know where or when to stop.

It was three weeks after this sermon on church work that Philip was again surprised by his strange visitor of a month before.  He had been out making some visits in company with his wife.  When they came back to the house, there sat the Brother Man on the door-step.

At sight of him, Philip felt that same thrill of expectancy which had passed over him at his former appearance.

The old man stood up and took off his hat.  He looked very tired and sorrowful.  But there breathed from his entire bearing the element of a perfect peace.

“Brother Man,” said Philip, cheerily, “come in and rest yourself.”

“Can you keep me over night?”

The question was put wistfully.  Philip was struck by the difference between this almost shrinking request and the self-invitation of a month before.

“Yes, indeed!  We have one spare room for you.  You are welcome.  Come in.”

So they went in, and after tea the two sat down together while Mrs. Strong was busy in the kitchen.  A part of this conversation was afterward related by the minister to his wife; a part of it he afterward said was unreportable——­the manner of tone, the inflection, the gesture of his remarkable guest no man could reproduce.

“You have moved since I saw you last,” said the visitor.

“Yes,” replied Philip.  “You did not expect me to act on your advice so soon?”

“My advice?” The question came in a hesitating tone.  “Did I advise you to move?  Ah, yes, I remember!” A light like supremest reason flashed over the man’s face, and then died out.  “Yes, yes; you are beginning to live on your simpler basis.  You are doing as you preach.  That must feel good.”

“Yes,” replied Philip, “it does feel good.  Do you think, Brother Man, that this will help to solve the problem?”

“What problem?”

“Why, the problem of the church and the people—­winning them, saving them.”

“Are your church members moving out of their elegant houses and coming down here to live?” The old man asked the question in utmost simplicity.