know," the rector had said, beaming at him mildly.
"Yes, but you see, sir," Marden had answered, "she hardly ever went, because she could n't walk so far. And so I 've got in the way of spending my Sundays at home always."
It was by this argument, nevertheless, that Mr. Bradwell prevailed. Unluckily, however, Marden happened to come on a morning when the good man had elected to inform the younglings of his flock that they should honor their parents. The exhortation remained long as a distressing memory. Harden had given the matter years of thought, as against the rector's week. He had never liked the latter part of the text,—"that thy days may be long,"—which this man, moreover, did not explain to his satisfaction. "It's like a bargain," he thought; and his mind wandered curiously away to call up a picture of some black-bearded Jews he had seen trading in Palermo. Out of the whole hour in the dark little church he remembered chiefly this impression, and the sense of waiting for help that was not offered, and the
