CHAPTER XIV. THE PASTOR'S PROPOSITION. ""Tis prayer supports the soul that's weak, IT was a leisure afternoon with Gilbert Owen, and he was very leisurely enjoying it in his own way. The parlour window was thrown widely open; the large chair drawn closely to it, and, leaning back in its depths, he had been for some time very busily enjoying the perusal of a little manuscript volume in a lady's handwriting, the pages of which seemed abounding in interest to him. It was so warm without; the sun glowed hotly on the opposite hills, and but a tiny ripple of a breeze played among the passion-flowers in the verandah. Yet it was pleasant in that little room— so shadowy and tranquil; the murmuring hum of the insects without or of the truant flies within, only increasing the stillness. What was there in that little volume that so deeply interested the young pastor of Glen Ness, awakening now and then the shadow of a smile, at other times positively provoking tears? Gentle readers, on the principle of mutual possession, will you believe it of Gilbert Owen? He had stolen away his little wife's diary, and was covertly enjoying a peep into her secret thoughts. Too bad, now, was it not? Too bad, that close interpretation of the law of mutual rights-a downright theft we call it, and not to be tolerated even in our Glen Ness minister. He But on he went, enjoyedly reading, turning page after page, till the last entry set him thinking. closed the book, and looked out over the distant hills. The entry was this: : "Nov. 13th.-A lovely day. Everything is pleasant without and within. Gilbert is at home to-day. I have been thinking much of the words I read in my little daily text-book yesterday morning :— 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.' Now, what I want is something to do— something to do for Christ. I seem to be doing nothing, and yet how I pray and desire to be able to assist dear Gilbert in his work. What can I do? I will pray that even this may be made plain to me." "Dear little wife! Help me in my work? She loes, she does-little as she seems to know it," thought Gilbert, as he closed the book. "Am not I daily cheered and comforted in my duties ? Do not her words - nay, does not even her presence revive me? And is she not already a fellow-labourer with me in the good work? A thousand times, yes." And as he spoke, softly the door was opened, and the little ministering wife came in, peeping cautiously at first, but advancing boldly forward when she found he was not sleeping. "Not asleep, dear Gilbert! Well, I want you to try a glass of my lemonade-a real specific, this hot day," and she placed a glass of the cooling liquid in his hands. As she did so, alas! her own manuscript caught her attention. The colour mounted over cheek and brow, and, with a vexed curve of the lip, she tried to take it from him, exclaiming, "Oh, Gilbert, that is not right! My private papers! I would not have touched yours!" He playfully held the book above his head. "What's the matter, Emmy?" he asked, laughingly. "I have done no harm, dearest, have I?" "You should not have taken my journal, Gilbert," she replied, almost in tears; "it is not kind." "Would you really have deprived me of the pleasant half-hour I have spent over it this afternoon?" he asked, reproachfully, drawing her towards him, and placing the book in her outstretched hand; but she only hid her face and tears on his shoulder. "I do not think, dear Emmy," he presently softly continued, "that there is anything in your little diary that you need desire to conceal from your husband. It has done me good to read it, and your last entry, darling, has given me a subject for a sermon. Come, look up, and tell me you forgive me. You shall see my diary some day— there, will that do?" She looked up, smiling through her tears, and watched him as he drank the glass of lemonade, pronouncing it excellent; but she seized the first opportunity she had to escape and to hide the little book in greater security-even beyond the reach of her husband's prying fingers. She had forgotten all about the theft by tea-time, and was thoroughly enjoying herself and the quiet time they were having together, when a word from Gilbert brought it back to memory again. "I have a proposal to make, Emmy. You say you want to help me, do you not?" "You know I do, dear Gilbert," Emily softly replied, the quick colour springing to her cheeks. "I think I have found out a way for you, a way that will not only help me in my work, but will do good to the young members of the church. I want you, dear, to become better acquainted with them. We are too far off from the township for you often to visit at their houses; besides, even then you have not the chance of having the young folks by themselves, and no opportunity of influencing them for good, or not so much, at any rate, as you ought to have. Many of them are too shy to call here on a mere visit, but you must become better acquainted. How? that is the next question." "Yes," said Emily: "I have often thought about it and wished it could be otherwise. It is, of course, the young women of the congregation, you mean?' "Yes, dear; the young men, as you know, I intend to undertake myself." "And what can I do?" "That I am about to propose. It is no new thing, dear Emmy, it is what full many a pastor's wife has done before you in the old country; and why, when it has been found so useful, so blessed there, we should not try it in the new, I am at a loss to know. I mean the gathering together of the young females of the church-not for a Bible-class exactly, but a prayer-meeting. God has abundantly blessed these meetings, dearest; will you not see what you can do to inaugurate one?" "I, dearest Gilbert! ought I? could I?"! "I think you both could and ought," said Gilbert, smiling a little at his wife's dismay; "Why should you not?" "I do not know, dear Gilbert; only that I feel so unfit, so weak, so timid. " "For fitness, for strength, for courage, you know full well where to go, my Emmy; and you desire to be the means of sending souls to the Saviour, do you not?” "Ah, Gilbert, above everything." "And of drawing the young Christian into closer communion with Jesus?" . "Yes, oh yes!" and there were tears in Emily's eyes as she raised them a moment to her husband's. Here, then, is an open door for you, dear. I shall leave you to think over it. You shall tell me by-and-by, when I come in to tea, what you think of my plan, and then I will aid and advise you in any way you like." He stooped and kissed his tearful little wife as he spoke; then rising and putting on his hat, he sauntered out into the stable, where his horse was awaiting its customary attention. Emily ran off to her bedroom the moment her husband left her, and closed the door after her. Sinking on a chair by the side of the bed, she laid both arms and head upon it, and hid her face in her hands. "Can I do it? can I do it?" she thought, tears |