"There's all kind of talk around town about it. They say that if he gets a judgment against you, Elder, he will put you in jail, and all that; but of course that couldn't be. You stand too well in the church. But you know, Reverend, the only thing that looks kind a bad for you is, they say that he wouldn't dare start such a suit unless he had good ground for action. They say--"

The Elder had extricated himself at last, and now sailed down the street with high head. "May the God crush that hard-headed bulldog into the earth," he muttered between compressed lips, so angry that he could not see clearly. "How long am I to be aggravated with this rotten gossip!"

He changed his mind about walking far, and at a convenient corner, he turned back toward home. But when he arrived there, he was confronted with another, and more serious problem. It had been his intention before arriving there, to arraign his wife again for having let Orlean go West in the beginning. But now he was confronted with his august honorary, the Bishop.

"And, now, Reverend," said the Bishop, after they had gone through the usual formalities, "I am forced to come around to something that embarrasses me very much, in view of our long and intimate relations,"

and he paused to look grave. The Reverend tried to still his thumping heart. All his life he had been a coward, he had bluffed himself into believing, and having his family believe, that he was a brave man, but Orlean had told Baptiste on several occasions that her father might have risen higher in the church, but for his lack of confidence.

"It pertains to all this gossip and notoriety that is going the rounds.

I suppose you are aware of what I refer to." The other swallowed, and nodded.

"You can appreciate that it is very embarrassing to me, and to the church, more, because I have struggled to raise the standard in this church. We have in the years gone by been subjected to unfair gossip, and some fair because of the subtle practices of some of our ministers.

And now, with conference convening in two weeks, it is very awkward that we should be confronted with such a predicament with regard to you, one of our oldest ministers. The subject is made more embarrassing because of its--er, rather personal nature. I would regard it as very enlightening if you would give me an explanation--but, of course, in the name of the church."

The Reverend swallowed again, struggled to keep his eyes dry, for the rush of self pity almost overcame him. It was, however, no time or place for self pity. The Bishop was _not_ an emotional man; he was _not_ given to patience with those who pitied themselves--in short, the Bishop was _very much_ of a cold hearted business man, notwithstanding his position. He was waiting in calm austerity for the other's reply.

"Ah-m ahem!" began the Reverend with a great effort at self composure.

"It is, to say the least, my dear Bishop, with much regret that I am compelled to explain a matter that has caused me no end of grief. To begin with: It was not with my consent that my daughter was allowed to go off into the West and file on a homestead."

The other's face was like a tomb upon hearing this. Indeed, the Elder would have to put forth a more logical excuse. It has been said that the Bishop was a practical man which in truth he was, and the fact is, he regarded it as far more timely if a larger number of the members of his race in the city would have taken up homesteads in the West, than for them to have been frequenting State Street and aping the rich. Also, the Bishop had read Baptiste's book--although the Reverend was not aware of it,--and was constrained to feel that a man could not conscientiously write that which was absolutely false.

"But I came into the city here after a conference to find that my daughter had been herded off out West in a wild country to take a homestead."

"Now, just a minute, Reverend," interposed the Bishop astutely.

"Regarding this claim your daughter filed on. What was the nature of the land? You have been over it, I dare say."

"Of course, of course, my dear Bishop! It was a piece of wild, undeveloped land. At the time she took it, it was fifty miles or such a matter from the railroad. She gave birth to a child--"

"But," interposed the Bishop again, "you say the land was a considerable distance from the railroad at the time your daughter filed on the place?

Very well. Now, Reverend, isn't it a fact that in the history of this country, all new countries when opened to the settler may have been some distance from the railroad in the beginning? For instance, somebody started Chicago, which was certainly not the convenient place then that it is now in which to live."

"Of course, my dear Bishop, of course."

"So the fact that the railroad was, as you say, fifty miles away, could not be held as an argument against it. Besides, is it not a fact that there were other people, men and women, who were as far from the railroad and therefore placed at an equal disadvantage?"

"Of course, of course."

"Then, my dear Reverend, it does not appear to me that that should be a fact to be condemned."

"I have not condemned it, my dear Bishop. No."

"Very well, then, my dear Reverend, please proceed."

Now the interposition of the Bishop, had rather disconcerted the Elder.

Had he been allowed to proceed in the manner he had planned and started to, he might have made the case from his standpoint, and under the circumstances very clear to the Bishop. But the latter's questions threw him off his line, and he started again with some embarrassment, and with the perspiration beginning to appear around the point of his nose.

Appreciating, however that he was expected to explain, he went resolutely back to the task.

"Well, my wife allowed my daughter to be taken out there and file on this land that this man had secured on his representation that he wished to marry her, and when I came into the city it was all settled."

"Pardon me for interrupting you again, my dear Elder. But is it not a fact that Mrs. Pruitt, with whom you are well acquainted, accompanied your daughter on this trip?"

"It is so, Bishop."

"And is it not a fact that Mrs. Pruitt as well as your daughter, explained it all at the time with satisfaction to you?"

"Well, ah--yes, she did."

"You admit to this, then, my dear Reverend?"

"Under the circumstances at the time, I was rather compelled to, my dear Bishop."

"Meaning that since she had gone and taken the land, you were morally bound to look into and consider the matter favorably?"

"Yes, I think that explains it."

"Now, Reverend. Is it not a fact that a considerable write-up appeared in the Chicago _Defender_ shortly after this visit, detailing considerable, and with much illustration regarding the trip; that, in short, your daughter had come into considerable land and was regarded as having been very fortunate?"

"I think so, my dear Bishop."

"Very well, Reverend. Now--a--who solicited that write-up? Did the editor not have a conversation with you before the article appeared?"

"I believe he did, yes, sir. I think he did."

"Well, now, Reverend, if I remember correctly, this young man visited the city the Christmas following, and I was introduced to him by you in this same room?"

"I think so. Yes, Bishop, I remember having introduced him to you myself."

"And do I quote correctly when I say that you called me up the following spring to perform the ceremony that made your daughter and this Jean Baptiste man and wife?"

"I think you quote correctly, my dear Bishop."

"M-m. Yes, I recall that I was indisposed at the time and was very sorry I could not perform the ceremony," said the Bishop thoughtfully, but more to himself than to the other.

"Well, now. After they had been married some months, my wife visited your wife, and the latter seemed to be greatly impressed with the union.

I think if I am correctly informed that you went on a visit to them yourself that fall."

"I did, my dear Bishop. Yes, I did."

"And at the conference on your return, you, if I am not mistaken, called on me at my home and discussed the young man at considerable length."

"Yes, my dear Bishop. I did that."

"Yes," mused the Bishop again thoughtfully and as if to himself. "And you appeared greatly delighted with their union. You seemed to regard him as an extraordinary young man, and, from what I have heard, I have been inclined to feel so myself. Now it seems that a few months after you were speaking in high praise of him, you made a trip West and on your return brought your girl home with you, and she has not since returned to her husband. Of course," he added slowly, "that is your personal affair, but since it has reached the public, the church is concerned, so I am ready to listen to further explanation."

"I went out there and found my girl in dire circumstances," defended the Elder. "I found her in neglect; I found her without proper medical attention--no nurse was there to administer her needs. In short, I was prevailed upon by my love and regard for my daughter's health, to expedite the step I took."

"Nobly said, Reverend, nobly said," said the Bishop, and for the first time during his explanation, the Elder felt encouraged.

"The man did not marry her for love," the Elder went on now somewhat more confident. "He did not marry her to make her happy and comfortable.