St John is at the Lakes.'

'That is all very true; but you need a change. I have seen for some
weeks that you are failing. Mind, it is our best work that He wants,
not the dregs of our exhaustion. I hope you are not of the mind of our
friend Mr. Watts, the curate of St. Gregory's.'

'I thought you had a high opinion of Mr. Watts,' I returned.

'So I have. I hope it is not necessary to agree with a man in everything
before we can have a high opinion of him.'

'Of course not. But what is it you hope I am not of his opinion in?'

'He seems ambitious of killing himself with work--of wearing himself out
in the service of his master--and as quickly as possible. A good deal of
that kind of thing is a mere holding of the axe to the grindstone, not a
lifting of it up against thick trees. Only he won't be convinced till it
comes to the helve. I met him the other day; he was looking as white as
his surplice. I took upon me to read him a lecture on the holiness of
holidays. "I can't leave my poor," he said. "Do you think God can't do
without you?" I asked. "Is he so weak that he cannot spare the help of
a weary man? But I think he must prefer quality to quantity, and for
healthy work you must be healthy yourself. How can you be the visible
sign of the Christ-present amongst men, if you inhabit an exhausted,
irritable brain? Go to God's infirmary and rest a while. Bring back
health from the country to those that cannot go to it. If on the way it
be transmuted into spiritual forms, so much the better. A little more of
God will make up for a good deal less of you."'

'What did he say to that?'

'He said our Lord died doing the will of his Father. I told him--"Yes,
when his time was come, not sooner. Besides, he often avoided both
speech and action." "Yes," he answered, "but he could tell when, and we
cannot." "Therefore," I rejoined, "you ought to accept your exhaustion
as a token that your absence will be the best thing for your people.
If there were no God, then perhaps you ought to work till you drop down
dead--I don't know."'

'Is he gone yet?'

'No. He won't go. I couldn't persuade him.'

'When do you go?'

'To-morrow.'

'I shall be ready, if you really mean it.'

'That's an if worthy only of a courtier. There may be much virtue in an
if, as Touchstone says, for the taking up of a quarrel; but that if is
bad enough to breed one,' said Falconer, laughing. 'Be at the Paddington
Station at noon to-morrow. To tell the