Part 4 (1/2)

CHAPTER V

INTO TRACKLESS WILDS

”I will depart,” he said, ”the hour is coe flashi+ng”

EDWIN ARNOLD

The next ht On that day he was to go out from all that eet and precious in life and take the path into the wilderness At first his heart sank within hith of purpose revived, and he was resolute again

Hethe briefer the pang He had already bidden his friends good-by; his parents were long since dead; it only remained to part from the old Indian woman, his nurse in childhood, now his faithful housekeeper and the only inmate of his home

He went to the kitchen,--for usually at this hour she was up and preparing breakfast She was not there, and the rooray dawn He went to her door and knocked; there was no response He called her; the room was as still as death Alarone,--had evidently been gone all night, for the bed was untouched

He was pained and bewildered at this desertion, for only the day before he had given her a paper legally drawn up, securing to her the little property he possessed andher independent for the rest of her life She had taken it, listened in silence to the kindly expressions that accoift, and turned aithout a word

Now she was gone; what could it mean?

Slowly he made the si a little food, his Bible, and other necessaries into a kind of knapsack and strapping it upon his back Then taking his staff, he went out fro, the air was fresh and dewy, but his heart was sad

Yet through it ran a strange thrill of joy, a strange blending of pain and gladness

”The parting is bitter, bitter almost unto death, but He will keep me,” murmured the white lips, as he went down the walk

The sound of voices fell on his ears, and he looked up At the gate, awaiting hiroup of his parishi+oners, who had come to look once more on the face of their pastor One by whose bedside he had prayed in the hour of sickness; another, whom his counsel had saved when direly tempted; a little lahted woman, to whoate and ca them

”God bless you, sir,” said the old woain before you left us”

The little la, but came up to Cecil, took his hand, and pressed it to his cheek in a manner more eloquent than words

”Friends,” said Cecil, in a faltering voice, ”I thank you It is very sweet to know that you care for me thus”

One by one they came and clasped his hand in tearful farewell For each he had a loving word It was an iroup, the pastor with his pale spiritual face full of cal

When all had been spoken, the minister reverently uncovered his head; the others did the same ”It is for the last time,” he said; ”let us pray”

After a few earnest words coently from the lame boy's cheek and rested it on his head in silent benediction Then giving theot,--