to rely very much upon me--not so much
as I would wish. I don't quite understand him at times; the fact is,
it has struck me once or twice, that he preferred to take his own path,
instead of following mine."

"Papa," commented Anice, "I scarcely think he is to blame for that. I
am sure it is always best, that conscientious, thinking people--and Mr.
Grace is a thinking man--should have paths of their own."

Mr. Barholm pushed his hair from his forehead. His own obstinacy
confronted him sometimes through Anice in a finer, more baffling form.

"Grace is a young man, my dear," he said, "and--and not a very
strong-minded one."

"I cannot believe that is true," said Anice. "I do not think we can
blame his mind. It is his body that is not strong. Mr. Grace himself has
more power than you and mamma and myself all put together."

One of Alice's peculiarities was a certain pretty sententiousness,
which, but for its innate refinement, and its sincerity, might have
impressed people as being a fault When she pushed her opposition in that
steady, innocent way, Mr. Barholm always took refuge behind an inner
consciousness which "knew better," and was fully satisfied on the point
of its own knowledge.

When breakfast was over, he rose from the table with the air of a
man who had business on hand. Anice rose too, and followed him to the
hearth.

"You are going out, I suppose," she said.

"I am going to see Joan Lowrie," he said complacently. "And I have
several calls to make besides. Shall I tell the young woman that you
will call on her?"

Anice looked down at the foot she had placed on the shining rim of the
steel fender.

"Joan Lowrie?" she said reflectively.

"Certainly, my dear. I should think it would please the girl to feel
that we are interested in her."

"I should scarcely think--from what Mr. Grace and his friend say--that
she is the kind of a girl to be reached in that way," said Anice.

The Rector shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear," he answered, "if we are always to depend upon what Grace
says, we shall often find ourselves in a dilemma. If you are going to
wait until these collier young women call on you after the manner of
polite society, I am afraid you will have time to lose interest in them
and their affairs."

He had no scruples of his own on the subject of his errand. He felt very
comfortable as usual, as he wended his way through the village toward
Lowrie's cottage, on the Knoll Road. He did not a