he stormy character of which
on Margaret's part, nothing could have been in greater contrast than
the quiescent atmosphere that ever accompanied the shy, low-speaking
pedagogue. His presence diffused peace and quietude; and more than
formerly was this the case of late, since he had resumed an intention
of entering the Presbyterian ministry.

He had qualified himself for this profession at Princeton. But after
his full preparations, a conscientious scruple had arisen from a sense
of his diffidence, which he despaired of conquering, and by which he
believed his attempts at pulpit eloquence were sure to be defeated.
Though he could compass the hardihood to discourse to an assemblage of
distracting schoolboys several hours every week-day, he could not
summon the courage to address an audience of somnolent adults two
hours on Sunday.

But latterly he had awakened to a new inward call, and resolved upon a
new trial of his powers. By way of preliminary training, he had set
about practising upon the sailors and wharfmen who ordinarily spent
their Sundays in gaming or boozing in low taverns along the
water-front. To as many of these as would gather in some open space,
at the sound of his voice raised tremulously in a hymn, he would
preach as a layman, thus borrowing from the Methodists a device by
which he hoped not only his present hearers, but also his own future
Presbyterian congregations, should benefit. It was from one of these
informal meetings, broken up by the news from Massachusetts, that he
was but now returned.

The stupefaction in which we all sat, did not prevent our noting the
excitement in which Cornelius came; and Mr. Faringfield looked a mute
inquiry.

"Your pardon, friends," said the pedagogue to the company; and then to
Mr. Faringfield: "If I might speak with you alone a moment, sir--"

Mr. Faringfield went with him into the library, leaving us all under
new apprehension.

"Dear bless me!" quoth Mrs. Faringfield, looking distressed. "More
calamity, I vow."

In a moment we heard Mr. Faringfield's voice raised in a vehement "No,
sir!" Then the library door was reopened, and he returned to us,
followed by Cornelius, who was saying in his mildest voice: "But I
protest, sir--I entreat--he is a changed man, I assure you."

"Changed for the worse, I make no doubt," returned the angry merchant.
"Let him not darken my door. If it weren't Sunday, I should send for a
constable this moment."

"What is it?" cr