His new appointment was to Tyre--a somewhat distant village of traditional local pride and substance--and he was to be married only a day or so before entering upon his pastoral duties there.

The good people among whom he had begun his ministry took kindly credit to themselves that he had met his bride while she was "visiting round" their countryside.

In part by jocose inquiries addressed to the expectant groom, in part by the confidences of the postmaster at the corners concerning the bulk and frequency of the correspondence passing between Theron and the now remote Alice--they had followed the progress of the courtship through the autumn and winter with friendly zest.

When he returned from the Conference, to say good-bye and confess the happiness that awaited him, they gave him a "donation"-- quite as if he were a married pastor with a home of his own, instead of a shy young bachelor, who received his guests and their contributions in the house where he boarded.
He went away with tears of mingled regret and proud joy in his eyes, thinking a good deal upon their predictions of a distinguished career before him, feeling infinitely strengthened and upborne by the hearty fervor of their God-speed, and taking with him nearly two wagon-loads of vegetables, apples, canned preserves, assorted furniture, glass dishes, cheeses, pieced bedquilts, honey, feathers, and kitchen utensils.
Of the three years' term in Tyre, it was pleasantest to dwell upon the beginning.
The young couple--after being married out at Alice's home in an adjoining county, under the depressing conditions of a hopelessly bedridden mother, and a father and brothers whose perceptions were obviously closed to the advantages of a matrimonial connection with Methodism--came straight to the house which their new congregation rented as a parsonage.

The impulse of reaction from the rather grim cheerlessness of their wedding lent fresh gayety to their lighthearted, whimsical start at housekeeping.