“My preserver has been here several times to make inquiries after my health,” answered Pownal.  “He was here this morning.”

“And preaching about the kingdom,” said Judge Bernard.  “What a strange infatuation to look for the end of the world each day.”

“He errs in the interpretation of the prophecies,” said Mr. Armstrong, “when he finds in them prognostics of the speedy destruction of the world, but does he mistake the personal application?  Who knows when he may be called to face his judge?  Youth, and health, and strength, furnish no immunity against death.”

“But what a gloom this daily expectation of an event which the wisest and stoutest hearted are unable to contemplate without trepidation, casts over life,” said the Judge.

“Not in his case,” replied Armstrong.  “On the contrary, I am satisfied he would hail it with a song of thanksgiving, and I think I have observed he is sometimes impatient of the delay.”

“It is well his notions are only crazy fancies as absurd as his beard.  His appearance is very heathenish,” said Mrs. Bernard.

“Taste, my dear,” exclaimed the Judge, “all taste.  Why, I have a great mind to wear a beard myself.  It would be a prodigious comfort to dispense with the razor in cold winter mornings, to say nothing of the ornament.  And now that I think of it, it is just the season to begin.”

“You would look like a bear, Mr. Bernard,” said his wife.

“It would be too near an imitation of the old Puritans for you, Judge,” said Faith.

“You, at least, my little Puritan,” cried the Judge, “would not object.  But do not fancy that in avoiding Scylla I must run upon Charybdis.  Be sure I would not imitate the trim moustaches and peaked chins of those old dandies, Winthrop and Endicott.  I prefer the full flowing style of Wykliffe and Cranmer.”

“We should then have two Holdens,” exclaimed Mrs. Bernard, “and that would be more than our little village could live through.”

“Fancy papa running an opposition beard against Mr. Holden!” said Anne.

The idea was sufficiently ludicrous to occasion a general laugh, and even Armstrong smiled.

“I am a happy man,” said the Judge; “not only mirthful, myself, but the cause of mirth in others.  What a beam of light is a smile, what a glory like a sunrise is a laugh!”

“That will do, Judge Bernard, that will do,” said his wife; “do not try again, for you cannot jump so high twice.”

“Tut, tut, Mary; what do you know about the higher poetics?  I defy you to find such sublimities either in Milton or Dante.”

“I can easily believe it,” said Mrs. Bernard.

At this moment some other visitors entering the room, the conversation took another turn; and Mr. Armstrong and his daughter having remained a short time longer, took leave and returned home.  Let us follow the departing visitors.

Upon his return, Mr. Armstrong sank upon a seat with an air of weariness.