ceiling of the hall itself, are decorated in colors the brilliancy of which has defied the elements for nearly three thousand years. Some of the small adjacent rooms are not so fortunate. Already the water is beginning to creep up the walls or force its way through the floor. It is a curious contrast of light and shade: without, the purple rocks and saffron satin sands of the desert, flooded with light, stretch away beyond the green border of the river; within, darkness and the ominous churn and chunk of black water.

From the roof of the temple one obtains a comprehensive view of the disaster. There where that naked little Nubian boy is swim

gestion of her former self, a sad sight to those who remember her in all her pride and beauty. But the future is even darker. Already the soft stone is beginning to crumble, the water to thrust its persistent finger through this crevice and that; hour by hour the river, held in check by the great dam, creeps farther up the columns. The island is doomed. In a few years, perhaps months, perhaps even at the next flood-time, it will be utterly destroyed.

The simple natives who inhabit the surrounding country look with horror and superstitious dread upon the destruction of their beloved island. They say among themselves that on the night when first

TRANGE tales floated about the Long Valley one winter and spring, went over the ridge Sinai way, and were gossiped about in Pegram. It was said that the best-known and best-loved farmer, Asahel Gladden, had done an unheard-of thing. Not only had he taken in and nursed a "furriner" during the summer, but he had adopted him at the court-house in the early autumn. There were those who had seen this stranger, and who described him as "a juberous sight, lank and sickly." There were others who told of his unceasing labors on the Gladden farm, and how Pa Gladden's Folly," as irreverent souls had long since dubbed the big stone-andframe barn, was now full of cattle, and the outer sheds of hogs. Only Elder Becks and the burly Crossroads doctor knew the actual facts. They said that Pa and Ma Gladden looked years younger, and that they were all very comfortable and happy. The whole Valley also knew that the farmer had a new "two-seat," and that four people went to meeting from the brown house where two had gone in times past.

"Ma an' me jogged erlong with the old buggy many a year," said Pa Gladden; "but sence we 've got a fambly, we hev ter hev a two-seat."

Good Ma Gladden could not be had for "misforchins" as easily as of yore. Younger hands took the helm, and two firm, lean ones often led her back to her rocking-chair.

"Ter think I should be so ordered eroun'," she said, "an' thet ye got the actool right, son. I jes feed on the idee, like I hed been starved. I own up I don't

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like ter git fur erway from home nowadays. It air all so different-like."

"WE were certainly prepared for almost anything that might happen in Long Valley since you adopted a grown man," said Doc Briskett to Pa Gladden, "except that which was most likely to happen - Father Wister's death."

He had stopped his little mare Jinny at the convenient stile in front of the Gladden homestead. Pa Gladden sat contemplative upon it. The winter and spring were almost gone, but, for some reason, no more dreams and vagaries troubled the farmer. Peace, deep and underlying, held his soul in its thrall. Ma Gladden and Persephone wondered for a time what it was, then decided that it was the new and absorbing interest young Asahel Gladden had brought into the life at the brown house.

"Sence Father Wister started off in his sleep night afore last," replied the farmer, "I 'pear ter be spiritooally occupied in follerin' him an' rejoicin'. Many things air onfoldin' ter me thet he said in the Crossroads church when I war led thar by the hand ez a child. The church wull not see his ekal."

"I have been wondering what will suit you Crossroads folks, anyway," mused the doctor. "There are signs of changes; old ways are breaking up and new ideas are coming in."

Pa Gladden looked shrewdly at the speaker.

"Thar wull be much said an' done when proper respec's hev been paid ter Father Wister, doc," he replied slowly, "an' I kin

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give ye a leetle foreshadderin' when I say thet the ondyin' thort in eenymost every one's mind air thet we orter hev a young preacher."

Doc Briskett shook his head over the potentialities of the future as he pursued his way through the budding country lanes. Yet he returned to his home that night convinced that Pa Gladden had only voiced a conviction deeply rooted in the community.

A vista of happenings opened up before the minds of the isolated people of the Long Valley in the choice, initiation, sermons, visits, and conduct of a young preacher. Conjecture, comment, and gossip were rife, and in Dr. Briskett's little office at the Crossroads settlement there were daily discussions. The corner store, with its cider-barrels in the cellar, was deemed too riotous a place for the mention of church affairs. At this determined invasion of his secular premises the physician was alarmed.

"If you don't get hold of a preacher to suit you church folks, I'll be held accountable," he groaned to Pa Gladden.

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"We air, we truly air," cried Pa Gladden; we air all sot on young heart, young soul, young grit a-stirrin' roun', bustin' full o' zeal fer the Lord. Jes let yer mind conjur up a young worker thet hain't got a glimmer thet he possesses a liver er a stomick. What a chanst he wull hev! We shorely needs a man thet can stand seven good comp'ny suppers a week, an', ridin' hard ter visit his hull flock, put erway a few good dinners ter boot. I hain't much on church festivuls myself, but it air plain thet ef ye kin git an' intrustin', good-lookin' preacher, thar 'll be more tidies an' more comforters knit, an' more cakes baked, from Sinai cl'ar ter Pegram, than hez been turned out fer ten year back. Then thar air thet long percession o' church picnics ter consider. I tell ye, it air the time ter hev yer mind on the young lambs o' the flock thet must be gathered in with con

tinooal chasin' up ez well ez continooal prayin'."

All that can proceed without me," grumbled Doc Briskett.

"Arter we hev him, doc, it stan's ter reason it kin purceed. But ye must jedge intellec' fer us, sence my Asy won't be ter the fore tel he gets broke inter Valley ways. Yer word wull be lor ez ter the bookl'arnin' a preacher should hev. Ye must jedge them powers o' mind fer us, er misgivin's might ha'nt us later on."

"I hain't heared a thing fer a week but thet young preacher," sighed Lovisy Been, who was waiting for some powders; "but I wull miss Father Wister in times o' trouble. A merried man allers hez sympathy with merried folks' troubles."

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'But don't ye see, Lovisy," replied Pa Gladden, eagerly," thet ye air goin' ter git all thet throwed in? Why not give our gals a chanst? We still hev a few goodlookers, ef ye air merried."

"Lor, now, Pa Gladden! blushed Lovisy, "an' me with my nine! Why, I hev clean fergot I ever war young an' good-lookin'!"

"I would skip thet thar fac'," retorted Pa Gladden, giving the baby a gum-drop. "Nine childern air nine keys ter heaven. Chirk up! Ye got them same brown eyes ye did sech mischief with in meetin'. They uster light up the hull church. Don't ye be settin' up any oppysition ter a young preacher when ye air so young yerself."

The night of the church meeting there was not an empty seat in the house. Elder Becks had been summoned over from Pegram to open the meeting and to aid with his counsel.

By common consent Pa Gladden was chosen to present the desire for a young preacher. As he rose there went a stir through the house.

"Brethern and sisters," he began, in vain striving to subdue his real buoyancy of feeling, "we air shorely boun' ter consider this evenin' the callin' of a man ter sit in the cheer an' ter walk in the steps of our good Father Wister. Now I holds thet this actoolly air a most solemn an' edifyin' moment in the hist'ry o' the Crossroads church. We air standin' at a p'int in the road, an' thar air two sign-boards up fer we-all ter read plain. One o' them signs, an' thet air the one ter my left, spells out, 'An old preacher.' The other air ter my