for his life.  A man may save another from hanging and still be unable to save him from selfishness.  And Mr. Winter went his way and Philip went his, on a different basis so far as common greeting went, but no nearer in the real thing, which makes heart-to-heart communion impossible.  For the time being, Mr. Winter’s hostility was submerged under his indebtedness to Philip.  He returned to his own place in the church and contributed to the financial support.

CHAPTER X.

One day at the close of a month, Philip came into the cosey parsonage, and, instead of going right up to his study as his habit was when his outside work was done for the day, he threw himself down on a couch by the open fire.  His wife was at work in the other room, but she came in, and, seeing him lying there, inquired what was the matter.

“Nothing, Sarah, with me.  Only I’m sick at heart with the sight and knowledge of all this wicked town’s sin and misery.”

“Do you have to carry it all on your shoulders, Philip?”

“Yes,” replied Philip, almost fiercely.  It was not that either.  Only, his reply was like a great sob of conviction that he must bear something of these burdens.  He could not help it.

Mrs. Strong did not say anything for a moment.  Then,

“Don’t you think you take it too seriously, Philip?”

“What?”

“Other people’s wrongs.  You are not responsible.”

“Am I not?  I am my brother’s keeper.  What quantity of guilt may I not carry into the eternal kingdom if I do not do what I can to save him!  Oh, how can men be so selfish?  Yet I am only one person.  I cannot prevent all this suffering alone.”

“Of course you cannot, Philip.  You wrong yourself to take yourself to task so severely for the sins of others.  But what has stirred you up so this time?” Mrs. Strong understood Philip well enough to know that some particular case had roused his feeling.  He seldom yielded to such despondency without some immediate practical reason.

Philip sat up on the couch and clasped his hands over his knee with the eager earnestness that characterized him, when he was roused.

“Sarah, this town slumbers on the smoking crest of a volcano.  There are more than fifteen thousand people here in Milton out of work.  A great many of them are honest, temperate people who have saved up a little.  But it is nearly gone.  The mills are shut down, and, on the authority of men that ought to know, shut down for all winter.  The same condition of affairs is true in a more or less degree in the entire State and throughout the country and even the world.  People are suffering to-day in this town for food and clothing and fuel through no fault of their own.  The same thing is true of thousands and even hundreds of thousands all over the world.  It is an age that calls for heroes, martyrs, servants, saviors.  And right