could warm up more to a man thet war n't quite so near perfec'."

"Thunderation, yes," Ashgrave broke in on the conversation; "even Christ came eating and drinking, but this man's a John the Baptist."

"Ol' Deekin Buffin't'n's never forgive him eatin' nothin' but johnny-cake to the Ord'nation Dinner," Blanket declared.

It was the first Barnaby had heard of this episode in the clergyman's career, and it struck him as peculiarly characteristic. At another time, he might have thought it characteristic as flaunting his pretensions to austerity at a most inopportune moment, but under the smart of his preceding act of injustice, he was ready to admit its inherent honesty of purpose.

"If he hain't a hypocrite," Ashgrave asserted, "he ought to take in his sign."

It seemed to Barnaby as if his own cruelty had been the cause of this misjudgment, and he hastened to condemn the assertion.

"If there ever was a man who felt the responsibilities of his office and tried to fulfil them, it 's Craig," he said.

"What's he here for?" demanded Ashgrave. “To save our souls? He'd come nearer doin' it, if he did n't forget we'd got bodies!"

"Sometimes," mused Blanket, "they 're a 'tarnal load to carry."

Ashgrave looked at him, half in amusement and half in contempt. Blanket disliked him, and he knew it; but that had no part in his answer.

"What do you know about bodies, with that dried up old carcass of yours?" he demanded bitterly.

"Wall," said Blanket, "it 's got 'bout 's many in'ards an' out'ards fur pains an' rheumatiz an' sech like to tuck

'emselves away, es mos' bodies; an' ef thar 's eny good fur eny more, all I got to say is, I don't want 'em."

"Is it pulling you down to hell?" demanded Ashgrave fiercely. "Does it feel as if there was a devil inside it that drives you to drink, to cursings and to women? Is it a trap to catch you by the heels and throw you into the pit? Is it a dungeon of blackness from which proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, deceit, lasciviousness and blasphemy? Is it

"No, 'tain't," interrupted Blanket; "an' ef thet 's what you 're luggin' round with you an' callin' a body, the sooner you get rid of it, the better it 'll be fur the town, an' you yerself can't be much wuss off."

"Worse off!" exclaimed Ashgrave. "By God, there are moments now when I can forget! You can shut your eyes and dull your senses, and give way to passion. May be you can't there. I'm not going to be in any hurry to find out."

"Pleasant sorter critter," said Blanket, watching Ashgrave as he moved off. "I've kinder thought sometimes he's sweet on 'Mandy Seagrave. Nice pleasant kinder husband he 'd make her, would n't he?"

"Amanda Seagrave!" exclaimed Barnaby. "You don't mean there's anything between them — that way?"

-

"Wall, es I war sayin', I've kinder 'spicioned it at times, in my goin's up an' down the arth, which gives me time to cogitate an' ruminate; but thar 's one thing I kin tell you sartain."

"What's that?" demanded Barnaby eagerly.

"Thar would n't be much atween 'em that-a-way long, ef I war a clean-cut young feller sech es you be."

CHAPTER XIV

SIME

PRIESTLY ADMONITION

NIMEON CRAIG stood under the rose covered trellis, which was the red patch Barnaby had seen from the hill, talking to Ashgrave, who lay at full length on the grass, scarce turning his head to the speaker. In his two years as pastor of the flock at Padanaram, he had never before had to complain of lack of courtesy. Had Ashgrave merely walked away, he would have felt it less than the indifference which treated him and his speech as non-existent. None-theless, he went on, making full use of a clergyman's privilege to say what would be suffered from none other.

"It's not how others, but how God, judges you. You can't be a Christian and not be a good citizen. You can't be a good citizen, unless you 're a Christian! I've spared you, and failed, I fear, in my duty. You've been guilty of profanity. You've let your terrible temper carry you beyond all decent limits. You have enticed younger boys here and led them into drunkenness. You 've lied, as a church member. You've played the hypocrite. Unless rumour lies, you 've been guilty of unchastity

Ashgrave turned suddenly, as if stung, and looked at the speaker. Then he turned again to his indifferent attitude, satisfied that there was no deeper meaning in this last charge than in the others. As Craig was about to speak again, however, Ashgrave swung himself around

with his elbow as a pivot, and faced him. At the movement, the clergyman waited to learn its meaning.

"Don't let me interrupt," drawled Ashgrave, a mocking devil making his face most repulsive. "It seems to amuse you and don't hurt me, as the hen said to the woman who was shying rocks at her."

"Is there no respect due me as your pastor?" demanded Craig sternly.

"I'm sure I don't know," said Ashgrave. "I never was good at riddles." He was keeping his temper, with a devilish perception that in so doing he was offending the clergyman more seriously than he could by any other

course.

"I can call you before the Church," said the clergyman more sharply.

"Aye, and so can I; but will he come when you do call for him?" the boy answered derisively.

"One of your nasty play-books!" snapped Craig, who was losing his temper.

"Sure," responded Ashgrave; "but how in thunder do you recognise it? Been reading it, too, parson?"

Craig pulled himself together, sinking his personality in the sense of his high office and the magnitude of the responsibility that rested on him, and said, almost pleadingly.

"I came here for serious talk.”

Ashgrave had thrown himself on his stomach, with his elbows on the ground and his head in his hands. He gazed up at the clergyman, looking the very picture of comfort.

"I'd a' thought you had enough of that on the Sabbath," he said. "I s'pose it gets to be a habit. Fire away and don't mind me, as the rabbit said to the small boy."

'Ashgrave," said the clergyman, stepping forward and speaking in a different tone than he had thus far used, a tone that was almost pleading under his sense of the awful peril of the man, and his own powerlessness, unaided, to save him; "I came wanting to help you; will you let me do it?"

The mocking devil that had lurked in the eyes of the younger man fled and a black cloud of anger shut down over his face; his teeth set themselves hard together, he threw his head up and the cords of his heavy neck stood out like rods of iron.

"Take your help to hell!" he screamed. "When I want it, I can ask for it!"

"Ashgrave," Craig interrupted, white in his anger, "I'll not permit such

"You won't, eh?" Ashgrave was on his feet now, and the two men, each almost a giant in his way, were facing one another, with scarce a yard between them. "You won't? Who's going to stop me? Not you!"

"Your own self-respect, I hope." The clergyman had again saved himself, and was holding down his anger.

"Mind your own business and attend to your own self-respect, God damn you!" shouted Ashgrave. Even as the words crossed his lips, the horror of them burst upon him and he felt as if the solid earth was giving way beneath his feet to precipitate him into a literal hell. The inherited traditions of a New England ancestry were realities, and the fear that came with a physical chill was as terrible as he had ever known. The bravado of anger fled him, and he stood facing the clergyman, cold, and with full knowledge measuring, in all this horrible conception of eternal ruin, the act that had leaped as a flame from the white heat of his unconquerable temper.