With her mother and Belle she went to the chapel on the following Sunday afternoon, and found her new friend on the watch for them.  The building was plain but substantial, and the audience-room large and cheerful looking.  Mr. Woolling was, in truth, not the type of the tall, rugged-featured man who sat on the platform pulpit, and Mildred, at first, was not prepossessed in his favor, but as he rose and began to speak she felt the magnetism of a large heart and brain; and when he began to preach she found herself yielding to the power of manly Christian thought, expressed in honest Saxon words devoid of any trace of affectation, scholasticism, and set phraseology.  He spoke as any sensible, practical man would speak concerning a subject in which he believed thoroughly and was deeply interested, and he never once gave the impression that he was “delivering a sermon” which was foreordained to be delivered at that hour.  It was a message rather than a sermon, a sincere effort to make the people understand just what God wished them to know concerning the truth under consideration, and especially what they were to do in view of it.  The young girl soon reached the conclusion that the religion taught in this chapel was not something fashioned to suit the world, but a controlling principle that brought the rich and poor together in their obedience to Him whose perfect life will ever be the law of the Christian Church.  The attention of even mercurial Belle was obtained and held, and at the close of the address she whispered, “Millie, that man talks right to one, and not fifty miles over your head.  I’ll come here every Sunday if you will.”

After the benediction the Rev. Mr. Wentworth came down from the pulpit—­not in a bustling, favor-currying style, but with a grave, kindly manner—­to speak to those who wished to see him.  When he at last reached Mildred, she felt him looking at her in a way that proved he was not scattering his friendly words as a handful of coin is thrown promiscuously to the poor.  He was giving thought to her character and need; he was exercising his invaluable but lamentably rare gift of tact in judging how he should address these “new people” of whom Miss Wetheridge had spoken.  His words were few and simple, but he made Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred feel that his interest in them was not official, but genuine, Christian, and appreciative.  Belle very naturally shrank into the background.  Her acquaintance with clergymen was not extensive, nor would it, I fear, ever have been increased by any efforts of her own; therefore it was with some trepidation that she saw Mr. Wentworth giving her an occasional side glance while talking to her mother.  She was about to bow very formally when introduced, but a smile broke over the man’s rugged features like a glow of sunshine, as he held out his hand and said, “Miss Belle, I know you and I would be good friends if we had a chance.”

The girl’s impulsive nature responded as if touched by an electric spark, and with her usual directness the words in her mind were spoken.  “I like you already,” she said.