Before he left her he was moved to tell her how he had seen the little child coming out to greet her.  He thought perhaps she had not heard those last joyous words of greeting and would want to know.

The light leaped up in her face in a vivid flame for the first time, her eyes shone with the tears that sprang mercifully into them, and her lips trembled.  She put out a little cold hand and touched his coat-sleeve: 

“Oh, I thank you!  That is precious,” she said, and, turning aside her head, she wept.  It was a relief to see the strained look break and the healing tears flow.  He left her then, but he could not get away from the thought of her all night with her sorrow alone.  It was as if he had to bear it with her because there was no one else to do so.

When he left her he went and looked up the minister with whom he had made brief arrangements over the telephone the night before.  He had to confess to himself that his real object in coming had been to make sure the man was “good enough for the job.”

The Rev. John Burns was small, sandy, homely, with kind, twinkling red-brown eyes, a wide mouth, an ugly nose, and freckles; but he had a smile that was cordiality itself, and a great big paw that gripped a real welcome.

Courtland explained that he had come about the funeral.  He felt embarrassed because there really wasn’t anything to say.  He had given all necessary details over the ’phone, but the kind, attentive eyes were sympathetic, and he found himself telling the story of the tragedy.  He liked the way the minister received it.  It was the way a minister should be to people in their need.

“You are a relative?” asked Burns as Courtland got up to go.

“No.”  Then he hesitated.  For some reason he could not bear to say he was an utter stranger to the lonely girl.  “No, only a friend,” he finished.  “A—­a—­kind of neighbor!” he added, lamely, trying to explain the situation to himself.

“A sort of a Christ-friend, perhaps?” The kind, red-brown eyes seemed to search into his soul and understand.  The homely, freckled face lit with a rare smile.

Courtland gave the man a keen, hungry look.  He felt strangely drawn to him and a quick light of brotherhood darted into his eyes.  His fingers answered the friendly grasp of the other as they parted, and he went out feeling that somehow there was a man that was different; a man he would like to know better and study carefully.  That man must have had some experience!  He must know Christ!  Had he ever felt the Presence? he wondered.  He would like to ask him, but then how would one go about it to talk of a thing like that?