y were discussing modern fiction when the door at the end
of the hall swung back with a bang and a loud halloo echoed through the
house. Elizabeth sprang up from her place and ran to the dining-room
door just as a tall young man bounded through. He came up erect at sight
of the stranger.

"Harold!" cried Elizabeth. "When did you come?"

"Just now. Didn't my war-whoop announce me?"

"But how did you get over from Little River station?"

"Walked."

"Why didn't you telephone? I'd have come over to meet you."

"Needed the exercise. Hello, Dad."

The Elder greeted the young man with a cold nod. His hand trembled
slightly as he stiffly extended it.

"We are just a short time at table. Will you join us?"

"Be glad to, Dad. I'm starved," he declared, eyeing the minister as he
drew up a chair.

"Oh, Mr. McGowan, please excuse us!" cried Elizabeth. "This is my
brother. Harold, this is our new minister, Reverend Mr. McGowan. Harold
comes home so seldom that I fear his unexpected arrival demoralized our
manners."

"Delighted to meet you, Mr. McGowan," cordially greeted Harold. "Heard
of you before I got in sight of the house."

The young men gripped each other's hands. Consternation took possession
of the Elder. Had his son fully understood?

"Mr. McGowan is the minister at our little church," he said
significantly.

"That's what Beth just said. Didn't I say the right thing to him, Dad?
Want me to start all over again like I had to when I was a kid?"

He eyed the minister with a curious expression as they took their seats
about the table.

"Maybe Dad wants me to repeat some verses to you. Used to do it and get
patted on the head."

Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, but the Elder showed his displeasure.

"That will do, Harold," he commanded sternly. "I shall not allow profane
jesting about sacred things in my house."

"Closet next, is it? Never mind, Dad, I'll try not to shock you again.
Haven't had much hankering for closets since I got shut up in that hole
over in Sydney. They called it a prison, but it was more like a
potato-pit than anything else."

"Sydney?" questioned the minister.

"Yes, Australia. You see, Mr. McGowan, I was a real prodigal for more
than two years. Chased out to California after I graduated from Yale,
and got mixed up out there in another fellow's scrape. To save my skin I
shipped on a freighter to Australia. Over there I tried to save another
poor devil from the lock-up, and got in b