But the missionary knew that the time had come when the few tried and true must be called out into a visible church of Christ. Old Juan, Pepe, his wife and a few others were to be received into church membership. It was at a preparatory service, and the room was full of listeners, many there from curiosity. They had sung:

"Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee."

"Brothers," said the missionary, standing before them. "You know that Jesus, when here upon earth, called his own to follow him. Many left home and lands to be with their Master.

"He, just as truly, calls us to-day to follow him. You may not need to leave home and lands. Yet you know what it will mean, here in Mexico, to follow him. You know also that he said: 'He that loveth father and mother more than me is not worthy of me, and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.' But he says, too: 'Whoever shall confess me before men, him will I also confess before my Father which is in heaven.' You know what it will mean here to confess him before men. Some

times it means the giving up of all that life holds dear. Sometimes it means the giving up of life itself. God grant it may not mean such to any of you, but it will mean the giving up of friends, of employment and perhaps of homes. But then, listen!" added the missionary, a glad light in his voice. "Listen! Do we fear? rather we say: 'Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?'

Nay,

"I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Can we say this, my friends?" "Amen!" was the low spoken but heartfelt reply of each.

The service, on the Sunday following, was a quiet but impressive one. But that night, on returning to his home, his mistress called her servant Juan into her room. "I am told that this day thou didst identify thyself with the Protestantes. it true?"

Is

"The Senora has heard aright," was the quiet but respectful reply.

"Art thou aware that by thus doing

thou hast forfeited the shelter of this, thy home?"

"Yes, Senora," said the old man.

"But surely, Juan, thou hast not considered! Think of this to-night, and tomorrow morning come and tell me thou dost repent."

But, on the morrow, neither threats nor persuasion could avail. The old man tried to tell his well-loved mistress of the glad, new life that was his. But she dared not listen, and though there were tears in her eyes, she turned from her service her well-tried and faithful servant, because the priest had so commanded and she must obey.

But news of what had been done had come to Rudolfo in his school. The mother did not know, neither did the priest know, that the young man sought out his faithful Juan and secured for him a little house on the outskirts of the town, where he could live with his friends, Pepe and wife, who also had been turned from home. Rudolfo knew that it would be difficult for Juan to obtain work. He left money with him saying: "Do not fear, my Juan. Thou hast ever cared for me, and now I will care that thou dost not suffer. Tell me when thou art in need!” "Oh, young master!" said the old man,

"ever kind and true! Yet thou dost lack the one thing. Come thou also and confess Christ. Leave that false life!"

"Perhaps, after a while, later on, when I am older!" said the young man gaily.

CHAPTER VII.

THE WORD OF GOD.

It was a little adobe house of two low rooms. They were unplastered, the uncovered rafters overhead roughly hewn. The floor was the ground, but it was hard, smooth and well swept. In the little enclosed back yard walked an old woman, singing in a low voice. This corral was her kitchen, and she was preparing the noon meal. She stooped over the little charcoal fire on the ground, placing on the coals her flat earthen griddle, on which she was to bake her tortillas (corn cakes). She was enveloped, head and shoulders, in her rebozo (long cotton shawl). She had just seated herself on the ground, and drawn to herself the flat stone on which the corn is ground, when the street door opened and in walked a slender girl of near eighteen years.

"Queridita!

Alma mia!" exclaimed the old woman rising, approaching the girl, and taking one little hand between her own. "Are all well at home? And where is Sara?" The girl wore no hat to remove, but she let fall over her shoulders her