was
neglecting, he glanced at it turning emerald upon the gentle slopes. He
set his face harder. Christopher Dodd's face was in any case hard-set.
Now it was tragic, to be pitied, but warily, lest it turn fiercely upon
the one who pitied. Christopher was a handsome man, and his face had an
almost classic turn of feature. His forehead was noble; his eyes full of
keen light. He was only a farmer, but in spite of his rude clothing he
had the face of a man who followed one of the professions. He was in
sore trouble of spirit, and he was going to consult the minister and ask
him for advice. Christopher had never done this before. He had a sort
of incredulity now that he was about to do it. He had always associated
that sort of thing with womankind, and not with men like himself.
And, moreover, Stephen Wheaton was a younger man than himself. He was
unmarried, and had only been settled in the village for about a year.
"He can't think I'm coming to set my cap at him, anyway," Christopher
reflected, with a sort of grim humor, as he drew near the parsonage. The
minister was haunted by marriageable ladies of the village.

"Guess you are glad to see a man coming, instead of a woman who has
doubts about some doctrine," was the first thing Christopher said to the
minister when he had been admitted to his study. The study was a small
room, lined with books, and only one picture hung over the fireplace,
the portrait of the minister's mother--Stephen was so like her that a
question concerning it was futile.

Stephen colored a little angrily at Christopher's remark--he was a
hot-tempered man, although a clergyman; then he asked him to be seated.

Christopher sat down opposite the minister. "I oughtn't to have spoken
so," he apologized, "but what I am doing ain't like me."

"That's all right," said Stephen. He was a short, athletic man, with an
extraordinary width of shoulders and a strong-featured and ugly face,
still indicative of goodness and a strange power of sympathy. Three
little mongrel dogs were sprawled about the study. One, small and alert,
came and rested his head on Christopher's knee. Animals all liked him.
Christopher mechanically patted him. Patting an appealing animal was as
unconscious with the man as drawing his breath. But he did not even look
at the little dog while he stroked it after the fashion which pleased it
best. He kept his large, keen, melancholy eyes fixed upon the minister;
at length he spoke. He did not