But for many years there had been no children in the manse.  He in whose ways Gavin was to attempt the heavy task of walking had been a widower three months after his marriage, a man narrow when he came to Thrums, but so large-hearted when he left it that I, who know there is good in all the world because of the lovable souls I have met in this corner of it, yet cannot hope that many are as near to God as he.  The most gladsome thing in the world is that few of us fall very low; the saddest that, with such capabilities, we seldom rise high.  Of those who stand perceptibly above their fellows I have known very few; only Mr. Carfrae and two or three women.

Gavin only saw a very frail old minister who shook as he walked, as if his feet were striking against stones.  He was to depart on the morrow to the place of his birth, but he came to the manse to wish his successor God-speed.  Strangers were so formidable to Margaret that she only saw him from her window.

“May you never lose sight of God, Mr. Dishart,” the old man said in the parlour.  Then he added, as if he had asked too much, “May you never turn from Him as I often did when I was a lad like you.”

As this aged minister, with the beautiful face that God gives to all who love Him and follow His commandments, spoke of his youth, he looked wistfully around the faded parlour.

“It is like a dream,” he said.  “The first time I entered this room the thought passed through me that I would cut down that cherry-tree, because it kept out the light, but, you see, it outlives me.  I grew old while looking for the axe.  Only yesterday I was the young minister, Mr. Dishart, and to-morrow you will be the old one, bidding good-bye to your successor.”

His eyes came back to Gavin’s eager face.

“You are very young, Mr. Dishart?”

“Nearly twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one!  Ah, my dear sir, you do not know how pathetic that sounds to me.  Twenty-one!  We are children for the second time at twenty-one, and again when we are grey and put all our burden on the Lord.  The young talk generously of relieving the old of their burdens, but the anxious heart is to the old when they see a load on the back of the young.  Let me tell you, Mr. Dishart, that I would condone many things in one-and-twenty now that I dealt hardly with at middle age.  God Himself, I think, is very willing to give one-and-twenty a second chance.”

“I am afraid,” Gavin said anxiously, “that I look even younger.”

“I think,” Mr. Carfrae answered, smiling, “that your heart is as fresh as your face; and that is well.  The useless men are those who never change with the years.  Many views that I held to in my youth and long afterwards are a pain to me now, and I am carrying away from Thrums memories of errors into which I fell at every stage of my ministry.  When you are older you will know that life is a long lesson in humility.”

He paused.