"Yes, and two other delegates with him."

"Tell me about the meeting, please," and the professor leaned back comfortably in his chair.

As briefly as possible Douglas narrated the events of the meeting. He glanced occasionally at Nell, and noticed that at times she ceased her work to listen.

"So nothing was accomplished, then?" the professor queried when Douglas finished.

"Nothing that I could see, except to make it all the harder for the new clergyman who is coming here."

"Oh, he'll find it hard enough, all right, trust Si Stubbles for that.

If he's anything like the last clergyman we had, he'll soon give in.

I'm afraid that he will be a man of straw when it is a man of iron we need."

Douglas smiled to himself. He was enjoying the various comments he was hearing about himself, and he wondered what the professor and others would think if they knew who he really was.

"A clergyman is supposed to be a 'steward of the mysteries,'" the old man continued. "Now, when I think of those words, I always picture to myself a mother standing before a cupboard with a bunch of keys in her hand. By her side are several children watching her with intense interest, waiting for her to open the door and bring forth things which are old, such as nicely-frosted doughnuts, and things which are new, such as jelly and pie. That cupboard is a place of mystery to the children, and the mother has the key to the treasure: Do you follow me?"

"Certainly," Douglas replied.

"Well, then, that cupboard is the Bible; the clergyman is the steward who is supposed to have the key, and his people are the children. They are looking to him to bring forth the things new and old for their good. But as far as I can find, he generally brings forth the same old things Sunday after Sunday which have become so stale that people do not care for them."

"Do all do that?" Douglas asked, mentally going over several of his sermons.

"Oh, no, not all. But the sermons I have heard since coming to this parish, and others which have been reported to me, have been of that kind. There was no life, nothing personal, and not one new and striking thought upon any great subject. They were just the same old plat.i.tudes about the Fathers, the doctrine of the Church, the duty of people to attend the services, and to give. There has been no food for longing, hungry souls."

"Such teaching is necessary, is it not?" Douglas queried.

"I do not deny that at all. But it is poor food to satisfy the soul, especially when it is served at every meal. The trouble is that so many young men leave college with stereotyped ideas. They are parrots and repeat what they have been taught, and nothing else."

Douglas winced a little at these words, for he knew how well they applied to himself. But he was beginning to see life in a new light since he had become plain John Handyman.

"We need a man who has seen and experienced life," the professor continued, "and can convert the great thoughts of the Bible into living food for hungry, troubled and tempted souls. I wish every clergyman would take a page from the life of the little bee. People as a rule think that it gets the honey right from the flower. They are mistaken.

All it gets is a little sweet water. But it takes that water, retires, adds something to it from itself, and by a process of its own makes it into honey."

"Isn't that funny!" Nan exclaimed. "Why I always thought the bees carried the honey on their legs and sc.r.a.ped it off when they got home.

Didn't you think so, Nell?"

"I confess I did," was the laughing reply. "It shows us that we have much to learn about the common things around us."

"Well, what the bee does, so should the teacher of the Word," the professor resumed. "He should go to the Bible as the bee to the flower, and 'read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.' Thus, through a process of his own, he is to bring forth the real spiritual honey for the benefit of hungry souls."

"Daddy, let's talk about something else," Nan suggested. "I am tired of such deep subjects. I was promised that I could talk to Mr.

Handyman the next time he came, and there are so many things I want to ask him."

Douglas glanced at the clock and was surprised to find that it was nearly nine. He rose at once to his feet.

"I must go now," he remarked. "It would not do for me to keep you up late."

"That's always the way," Nan pouted.

"Next time I come we shall have a long talk," Douglas promised.

Nell showed Douglas to the door. He was glad of this, as it gave him an opportunity to deliver Mrs. Dempster's message.

"Is Jean very ill?" Nell asked.

"I am afraid so."

"Well, I shall go over to-morrow. Poor girl, she has had a hard time of it. Her face was so white at the hall door. She startled me. And, oh, Mr. Handyman, I want to thank you for the stand you took that night."

"You don't blame me, then?"

"Blame you! Why, no."

"I am thankful for that. It shows that all are not against me."

"Only the Stubbles condemn you. They are very angry."

Nell paused suddenly, as if in deep thought.

"Are you going right home?" she presently asked.

"Yes."

"Would you mind taking something for Jake? It is a pick-handle which we brought from the wharf last night in our boat. We often bring things for him and he does the same for us. It is a new one, and he may need it. It is right there on the verandah."

Douglas found the stick and placed it over his shoulder, bade Nell good-night, and plunged forth into the darkness.

CHAPTER XVI

TWIN FIRES

Douglas walked slowly toward the main highway, lost in thought. He was much interested in the professor's comments about clergymen. He knew it was a good tonic to hear such plain statements. But he thought mostly about Nell. He had watched her during the time he had been at the house and was more deeply impressed than ever. She was so quiet and reserved. She had never seemed so beautiful as she sat by the table with the light from the shaded lamp falling upon her face. He thought about Ben, and a feeling of anger smote his heart. What right had such a cad to have any claim over such a woman as that? he asked himself. And how could she see anything in Ben to admire? Had they met near the old tree since the night of the dance? he wondered.

Douglas was startled from his musings by a sudden noise to his left.

Then, in an instant, the forms of two men hurled themselves upon him.

A blow from a stick grazed his head and made him dizzy for a second.

In the twinkling of an eye he realised that this was some of Ben Stubbles' mean, dirty work, and the thought maddened him. With the pick-handle he struck vigorously out, and soon had the satisfaction of knowing that he had settled one of his a.s.sailants, by the mournful groans he heard. Only one man was now left to deal with, and it did not take long to disarm him. Seeing that he was alone, with his cudgel knocked spinning from his grasp, he started to run away. Douglas, however, sprang after him and managed to seize him by the tail of his coat. To this he held with a bulldog grip while the other struggled frantically to get away. Finding that his efforts were in vain, and that he was in danger of being caught, he slipped out of his coat, leaving it in the hands of his conqueror, and disappeared in the darkness.

"Come back and get your coat," Douglas shouted. "You might need it before morning."

Receiving no answer, he began to grope around for the other a.s.sailant.

But no sign of him could he find. He had evidently been able to get away, and Douglas was thankful that he had not killed him, no matter how much he deserved it.

"Well, that was a surprise party," he muttered. "Luckily for me that Nell gave me that pick-handle." Then a sudden thought struck him. Did she suspect anything? Had she heard rumours as to what Ben might do, and so had given him a weapon of defence? He wondered about this the rest of the way home. In fact, it pleased him to feel that Nell was interested in his welfare.