john gage secured temporary work in the village delivering freight for a local carter. whenever opportunity afforded, the habitués of the bar-rooms did not spare him their sneers and jeers. "folks say you're a hell of a good preacher, john." "when are you going to wear the starched dog-collar, john?" calling him to a little group on the sidewalk, one of his former chums said, with mock solemnity, "let us pray." a roar of laughter followed, as john, crimson-faced, walked away.

there were days when the sting in some of the taunts was hard to bear—days when only one knows the conflict in that will that had become enfeebled by sin. but john gage was steadily gaining the victory, and the visits to the manse and the new friends around the church were displacing the former associations.

signs of a material prosperity that john had never before known were gradually appearing. the village tailor took particular pride one morning in showing the minister a piece of blue serge, "as fine a bit of goods as is imported. i'm cutting a suit out of it for john gage, and it will be as good as i can make it. did you ever think how much the tailor can co-operate with god in fixing a man up?"

but not all the villagers were desirous of co-operating with god in the reformation of john gage. a little crowd had gathered one night in mckee's barber shop, and the minister of st. andrew's was being harshly criticized for his frequent attacks on the liquor traffic. the proprietor of the pool-room, who attended st. andrew's at the time of the lodge annual parade, announced his intention of absenting himself unless the minister "minded his own business." others made similar threats, which in the aggregate might bring the minister to the proper frame of mind which became one who "received his bread and butter from some of the very people he had been abusing."

then the case of john gage was discussed, and uncomplimentary terms were freely applied. mckee thought "it would be a d——d good joke on the presbyterian preacher if john could be made as full as a goat, and then sent to the manse." to the lasting disgrace of the barber, he attempted to perpetrate the "joke."

bud jenks was a willing tool of anybody who would reward him with a whiskey, and when mckee offered him all he could take at one standing if he got gage to take a drink, he was ready to at least make the attempt. and so on a day when john had shovelled coal from car to waggon and waggon to cellar for eight hours, and was warm, tired and thirsty, bud appeared with a little pail, as if coming from the town pump. john was at the grating tramping the coal further into the cellar, and his head was about on a level with the sidewalk. "good-day, bud," he called up as bud stood for a moment.

"good-day, john; warm job, eh?"

"you bet it's warm," was the reply, as the coal-begrimed brow was wiped.

"take a drink o' water?" asked bud.

"sure i will, and thank you," answered the thirsty toiler with hand extended to the pail, which was placed on the sidewalk. quickly bud removed the lid, and gave the pail a tilt as the rim came near john's face. just a touch of froth from the lager beer was carried to john's lips, but instantly he pushed back the pail with an exclamation almost of pain. at the same moment he slid further into the cellar, and kneeling on the coal, with hands clasped against the wall, cried out again and again, "oh, my god, help me, help me, help me!"

bud peered into the darkness and called several times to john. at last john approached the grating again. "bud," he said quietly, "for god's sake go away and leave me alone; i'd rather drop dead than put another drop of that to my lips."

bud did not immediately depart, despite the pleading of the man in the cellar, and not until a passer-by had entered into conversation with him, and the two had moved off together, did john pull himself to the sidewalk and drive away. "oh, the smell of it near drove me mad for a few minutes," he said, as he confided the occurrence to his friends at the manse. "if it wasn't for the little gal, and coming up here, i'd get far enough away from this place, so's i wouldn't have the same temptations."

"temptation is not a matter of locality, john, and you would not escape it by crossing a continent, and besides, we need you right here. if you win out and give god the glory, you will do more to prove his power than a year of sermons could."

the colonel's outbreak

"bully for colonel monteith! he's a brick, by jinks he is! the words were uttered in an excited voice by the young minister on his return from one of his daily trips to the post office.

"why, daddy," exclaimed the wife, "i'll report you to the session for using bad language. but what has happened anyway?"

it was several minutes before the cause of the "bad language" could be satisfactorily narrated. the conversation in mckee's barber shop was related, and the indignation of the mistress of the manse was all that could be desired.

"well," continued the minister, "somebody who heard it happened casually to tell colonel monteith. within half an hour, the colonel was in the shop. mckee was lathering lawyer taskey, but that didn't seem an important matter to the colonel, for without waiting until he was through he at once faced him with what he had heard, and asked if it was true. at first mckee tried to evade the question, but the colonel pressed for an answer. 'well, suppose i did. is it any of your business?' replied mckee. then with a sneer he added, 'and anyhow, i didn't know that you and mister john gage were such bosom friends.' 'look here, mckee,' and the voice of the colonel trembled with emotion, 'i hold no brief for this man gage any more than i do for any other man in the village, but when a fellow puts up a fight like he has for the last two months—a fellow, as you know very well, with veins full of bad blood—it is in the highest degree reprehensible for any man to be even a party to such a devilish scheme as you tried to work out by making a poor sot like bud jenks your catspaw. and nobody, sir—i say, sir, nobody but a contemptible cur would attempt such a dastardly act.' and then the barber got impudent and told the dignified elder to go on a long trip. moving nearer to him the colonel said, 'before i go there, mckee, there's a place i wish to accompany you,' and quick as a flash he grabbed mckee and tried to drag him to the back of the shop. mckee didn't know what was going to happen, and naturally objected some, but jim morton, who saw it, says the colonel was 'mad from the toes up,' and after laming a few chairs, and damaging a mirror in the scuffle, he got the rear door open and pulled mckee after him down the bank to the creek. the barber likely surmised what was the next item on the programme, and not caring for cold baths in march, he did some furious scuffling, but though the colonel's hat and a few buttons had disappeared, he was able to report progress. jim says the language of mckee as he got near the water has never been surpassed in emsdale. lawyer taskey felt like going to mckee's rescue, as he doubtless earnestly desired to have his shave finished, but when he got his hat on and started down the bank the colonel thundered something at him that caused him to decide it would be pleasanter to remain in the shop.

"unfortunately the colonel could not part company with mckee at the critical moment, and the two of them fell into the water together. the colonel stood the shock well enough to have sufficient presence of mind to immediately grab the barber and duck him thoroughly, and then the two of them scrambled out, and the air is still blue around mckee's place; but taking a conjunct view of the entire affair, the colonel appeared satisfied.

"jim says that the colonel's language was not what would be expected from an elder, and that when there was the final scuffle at the edge of the creek, he heard him call mckee 'a blawsted skunk.' i suppose that's terrible in a member of st. andrew's session, but i'm sinner enough to be glad that mckee got a small percentage of his deserts, and my backbone feels stiffer and i shall carry my head a little higher because colonel monteith's on my session."

the minister jumped to his feet, and swinging his arm in a circle above his head shouted, "bully for colonel monteith, the man who turned mckee's 'joke' into a boomerang."

the eyes of the minister's wife had sparkled with interest as she listened to what had happened to mckee, and the minister was satisfied when at the conclusion of the incident she said quietly, "i am so sorry colonel monteith fell in the creek. ask him up for dinner to-morrow, or some day soon. i'll do my very best to show my appreciation of his well-meaning defence of our john."

the valentine

some weeks later john procured a position in a distant city. ruth and her father went to the station to bid him farewell, the latter assuring him of the unfailing interest of his friends at the manse, and uttering a few words of counsel, now that distance would prevent the frequent visits of the past.

for a while all went well, and encouraging reports reached the village manse. sometimes the letter was addressed to the minister, but oftener to ruth, and all of them revealed the strong hold the little one had upon the reforming man.

then came word of dull times and scarcity of work and loneliness. it was after a letter that revealed unusual despondency, that an urgent invitation was sent for john to return to the village and spend a few weeks at the manse until labour conditions improved.

no answer came to this invitation, but two weeks later a letter came from john's boarding-house, which read as follows:—

"dear sir,—i take the liberty of writing you, because there is a mr. gage boarding at my place, and he is real sick and don't seem to have no friends near here, and i can't take care of him no longer. he says you are his best friend, and so i thought you would tell me what to do, as he hasn't got no money, and i am a hard-working woman and can't afford to do without it. he ought to go to the hospital, i guess, but he don't take to the notion. please do something right away.—mrs. john mccaul, 14, st. lawrence lane."

the following morning the minister started for the city, and late that afternoon stood at the door of no. 14, st. lawrence lane. the lane consisted of a long, monotonous row of dingy little houses on the one side, and a miscellaneous group of stables and sheds on the other. factory buildings, with their "insolent towers that sprawl to the sky," overtowered the whole, shutting out much light, and pouring forth from their immense chimneys the smoke that usually hung like a pall over the narrow lane.

mrs. mccaul was greatly relieved by the presence of the minister, and as they sat in the ventilation-proof parlour she told him of john's hard luck, interspersing most of her family history in the narration. "he's terrible discouraged," she added, "and the doctor says he'd oughter be in some more cheerfuller place, although i'm doing the best i can."

it was a poorly furnished dark bedroom into which the minister was ushered, and the surroundings of the whole place reminded him of a popular description of certain american city boarding-houses, which are said to "furnish all the facilities for dying."

john clasped the extended hand with gratitude, and the visitor's presence did much that medicine had failed to do. as he stood talking to the sick man, his eyes rested a moment on a little red valentine that had been inserted between the glass and the frame of the tinselled mirror.

"i see you're looking at me valentine," said john.

"yes! i did notice it."

"well, sir, many a day the last few weeks i've wondered whether i could hold out. when a fellow ain't got a job, and money and friends is scarce, it seems like it's easier for the devil to get th' inside track. there was some days when it seemed as if all the devils in hell was after me a-trying to get me back to the old life, and i used to come up here and look at me valentine. i've stood before that there glass a good many times lately, and looked at the red heart what ruthie cut out, and said, 'god help me to be faithful to the little gal.'"

after a good deal of persuasion john consented to go to the hospital, so that he might receive proper care.

for seven weeks the disease, which was a part of "the wages of sin," held sway. once john thought the end was near, and that probably, ere many days, he must pass away. he expressed his fears in a broken voice to the nurse, and then asked for the valentine. tears filled his eyes as he gazed at the trifling token of a child's love. with an effort he controlled his voice and said huskily: "if anything happens, nurse, i want to have that valentine with me. you know what i mean, don't you?"

the nurse nodded her head.

"you see, nurse, it was sent me by a little gal—the minister's little gal. i was pretty far gone a year ago, and if ever god sent an angel into this world to help lift up a poor wretch of a man, it was when that little gal started to be my friend. and when them little hands cut out the heart for my valentine and sent it to me, and i read 'ruth loves john,' i felt as good as if i'd been sent a fortune."

the news of john's sickness had its effect on ruth's nightly prayer: "please, god, make john better, because he's very sick. for jesus' sake. amen."

john's sickness was not unto death. slowly he regained health and courage, and as soon as he was able to work he secured a position in a city factory. much of his leisure is being given to city mission work.

he has often been seen on a street corner joining in an open-air service. not long ago he was telling a crowd of men what the gospel had done for him. "say, fellows, when i think of it—think of what i was—i just know he's able for anything. i'm ashamed of myself, but i'm proud of him."

as he finished his testimony a workman in the same factory, who was standing at the rear of the crowd, called out, "yes, and john's the decentest feller in the factory, so he is."

the red heart has faded almost to a brown. it no longer occupies its place on the mirror. a stranger picking up john gage's bible might wonder why a soiled and worn bit of paper in the shape of a heart should be pasted on the front inside page; but often a tired workman, reading his "verses" for the night, turns first of all to the front inside page, and reads three words that light and time and dirt have almost effaced—"ruth loves john."

sometimes the gaze is long, and sometimes the fading words are still further dimmed by tears, but the faded valentine is fragrant with precious memories of a child's love that resulted in the homecoming of the prodigal.