"
"True," said the old man; "but 'charity suffereth long and is kind; beareth
all things, hopeth all things.' Ay, there you have it; 'hopeth all things'!
I have great hopes of that one boy, Robert. Some seed that we sow bears
fruit late, but that fruit is generally the most precious of all."
The old minister went to the pulpit that day with a grieved and heavy
heart. He closed his discourse with dim and tearful eyes. He wished that
his work was done forever, and that he was at rest among the graves under
the blossoming trees in the old kirkyard. He lingered in the dear old kirk
after the rest were gone. He wished to be alone. The place was sacred and
inexpressibly dear to him. It had been his spiritual home from his youth.
Before this altar he had prayed over the dead forms of a bygone generation,
and had welcomed the children of a new generation; and here, yes, here, he
had been told at last that his work was no longer owned and blessed!
No one remained--no one?--"Only a boy."
The boy was Robert Moffat. He watched the trembling old man. His soul was
filled with loving sympathy.
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