cannot explain life's mysteries, but God can, and meanwhile I hold

"'That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.'"

"Tennyson was not Paul," I remarked.

"Why should he have been?" he asked. "He was a Christian seer, none
the less, and he had the heavenly vision."

"But you cannot call his theology orthodox," I persisted; "is it in any
sense Biblical?"

"Whence came his vision and inspiration if not from God?" he replied.
Then he turned to Mother Hubbard: "Thank you, thank you much," he said;
"I shall not forget your parable of the heather."

CHAPTER XXIV

ROGER TREFFIT INTRODUCES "MISS TERRY"

I had a letter from Rose this morning. The lucky girl has got another
holiday and is apparently having a fine time at Eastbourne. She says
the chief insisted that her trip north was not a holiday, but a tonic.
If so, it was a very palatable one, I am sure, from the way she took
it. Whilst, therefore, I am exposing plates and developing negatives,
she is enjoying refreshing sea-breezes, and listening to good music.
It appears her chief recommended Eastbourne, and I gather from her
letter that he is there himself with his family.

So is the Cynic! The courts are closed for the most part, but he told
me a while ago that there were one or two Old Bailey cases in which he
was interested which would prevent him from going very far away, and he
is taking week-ends on the south coast. It is curious that he should
have hit upon Eastbourne--quite by accident, Rose assures me--and that
they should have met so early. I am not surprised that they should
have been together for a long ramble over the downs, though I imagine
they would have liked it better without the presence of a third party.
Rose is not very clear about it, but apparently there were three of
them. What a nuisance for them both!

The Cynic does not expect to be in Windyridge again before the end of
this month. I always think September seems a particularly long month,
and yet it has only thirty days.

Meantime the village is affording me further opportunities of studying
Mother Hubbard's theories of human nature and discovering the germ of
goodness in things evil. It is a difficult hunt!

Little Lucy Treffit's father has come home, and the fact has a good
deal of significance for Lucy and her mother. I cannot bear the sight
of t