Belle was in quite a flutter of excitement on the evening named for Mr. Wentworth’s visit, and the genial clergyman would have laughed again could he have heard one of her reasons for welcoming him.  “He is so deliciously homely,” she said, “I like to look at him.”  He came at the hour appointed, and his visit was truly a “spiritual” one, if enlivened spirits, more hopeful hearts, and a richer belief in their Divine Father’s goodwill toward them all were the legitimate result of a spiritual visit.  Mr. Jocelyn, in expectancy of the guest, had carefully prepared himself in guilty secrecy, and appeared unusually well, but he was the only one who sighed deeply after the good man’s departure.  Rising from the depths of his soul through his false exhilaration was a low, threatening voice, saying, “That man is true; you are a sham, and your hollowness will become known.”

Indeed, Mr. Wentworth went away with a vague impression that there was something unreal or unsound about Mr. Jocelyn, and he began to share Mrs. Wheaton’s painful forebodings for the family.  Belle enjoyed the visit greatly, for the minister was an apostle of a very sunny gospel, and she was then ready for no other.  Moreover, the healthful, unwarped man delighted in the girl’s frolicsome youth, and no more tried to repress her vivacity than he would the bubble and sparkle of a spring.  Indeed he was sensible enough to know that, as the spring keeps pure by flowing and sparkling into the light, so her nature would stand a far better chance of remaining untainted if given abundant yet innocent scope.  His genial words had weight with her, but her quick intuition of his sympathy, his sense of humor, which was as genuine as her own, had far more weight, and their eyes rarely met without responsive smiles.  There was nothing trivial, however, in their interplay of mirthfulness—­nothing that would prevent the child from coming to him should her heart become burdened with sin or sorrow.  She was assigned to Miss Wetheridge’s class, and soon became warmly attached to her teacher.  Mildred, to her great surprise, was asked to take a class of rude-looking, half-grown boys.  In answer to her look of dismay, Mr. Wentworth only said smilingly, “Try it; trust my judgment; you can do more with those boys than I can.”

“Were it not for my promise to Miss Wetheridge, I shouldn’t even dare think of such a thing,” she replied; “but I now feel bound to attempt it, although I hope you will soon give me some very, very little girls.”

“In complying you show a high sense of honor, Miss Jocelyn.  I will relieve you after a time, if you wish me to,” and the student of human nature walked away with a peculiar smile.  “When I was a harum-scarum boy,” he muttered, “a girl with such a face could almost make me worship her.  I don’t believe boys have changed.”