To take a vow for Gabriel, to give him to God, to confirm him in possession of the name she had bestowed, became the desire of Clarice.  One day when she had some business to transact in the market, she dressed Gabriel in a new frock she had made for him, and took him with her to the Port, carrying him in her arms half the way.  She did not find the minister, but she had tested the sincerity of her desire.  When he came down again to the Bay, as he did the next Sunday, she was waiting to give him the first fruits of his labors there.

He arrived early in the morning, that he might forestall the fishermen and their families in whatever arrangements they might be making for the day.  When Clarice first saw him, her heart for a moment failed her,—­she wished he had not come, or that she had gone off to spend the day before she knew of his coming.  But, in the very midst of her regrets, she caught up Gabriel and walked forth to meet the preacher.

The missionary recognized Clarice, and he had already heard the story of the child.  He was the first to speak, and a few moments’ talk, which seemed to her endless, though it was about Gabriel, passed before she could tell him how she had sought him in his own home on account of the boy, and what her wish was concerning him.

A naturalist, walking along that beach and discovering some long-sought specimen, at a moment when he least looked and hoped for it, would have understood the feeling and the manner of the missionary just then.  Surprise came before gladness, and then followed much investigation, whereby the minister would persuade himself, even as the naturalist under similar circumstances would do, of the genuineness of what was before him;—­he must ascertain all the attending circumstances.

It was a simple story that his questioning drew forth.  The missionary learned something in the interview, as well as Clarice.  He learned what confidence there is in a noble spirit of resignation; that it need not be the submission of helplessness.  He saw anew, what he had learned for himself under different circumstances, the satisfaction arising from industry that is based on duty, and involves skill in craft, judgment in affairs, and that integrity which keeps one to his oath, though it be not to his profit.  He heard the voice of a tender, pitiful, loving womanhood, strongly manifesting its right to protect helplessness, by the utterance of its convictions concerning that helplessness.  He knew that to such a woman the Master would have spoken not one word of reproach, but many of encouragement and sympathy.  So he spoke to her of courage, and shared her hopes, by directing them with a generous confidence in her.  He was the man for his vocation, for in every strait he looked to his human heart for direction,—­and in his heart were not only sympathy and gentleness, but justice and judgment.

While he talked to Clarice, the idea which had taken cognizance of Gabriel alone enlarged,—­it involved herself.