90 I GO A- FISHING. 



One day the farmer's family had gone to visit a friend, 

 some ten miles distant, and, not having room in their 

 wagon, they had returned, leaving Lucy to be sent for. 

 And toward evening the old man — the young man, I 

 should say — how strange this tale of his youth seems to 

 me who have always known him as old — the young man 

 was sent for her, and, having taken her into the wagon 

 with him, started to return. 



Five miles of the road were accomplished, when the 

 gloom of a tempest surrounded them, and a storm burst 

 on them with terrible fury. There was no shelter for a 

 mile, save the old church, that stood alone on the hill, 

 and thither he urged his horse, with difficulty and no 

 small danger. 



They reached the door, which was never closed, for 

 the house of God in those days was always open, and 

 the girl found shelter, while he secured the horse in safe- 

 ty under a shed, and returned to her. 



He had never told her of his love, and now was a fair 

 opportunity. In the wild flashes of the lightning, the lit- 

 tle church gleamed out on the valleys that it overlooked, 

 like a silent, calm mother, to keep all safe in the war of 

 the elements. No one who caught sight of it that night 

 dreamed that it was occupied; but there were two hearts 

 in it that commenced to beat in unison that night at the 

 altar where they pledged their love to each other. They 

 were not afraid, not terrified, though the tempest was fear- 

 ful, and though every window gleamed in the constant 

 flashes of the lightning. With arms folded around each 

 other, they knelt at the altar of the old church, and spoke 

 to each other of the future. The storm passed on, and 

 they knelt there still. It was a holy night, to which in 

 after years their souls recurred with never-ceasing joy. 



