the harvests were as rich and at the same time less
perilous as well as less offensive in the reaping. It began to study
euphemism. A spade became an agricultural implement and mud alluvial
deposit. Having become by long experience a specialist in the business
of moral scavenging, it proceeded to devote itself with most vehement
energy to the business of moral reform. All indecencies that could not
successfully cover themselves with such gilding as good hard gold can
give were ruthlessly held up to public contempt. It continued to be
cursed, but gradually came to be respected and feared.

It was to aid in this upward climb that the editor of the Daily
Telegraph seized upon Dick. That young man was peculiarly fitted for the
part which was to be assigned to him. He was a theological student and,
therefore, his ethical standards were unimpeachable. His university
training guaranteed his literary sense, and his connection with the
University and College papers had revealed him a master of terse
English. He was the very man, indeed, but he must serve his
apprenticeship with the sewer rats. For months he toiled amid much slime
and filth, breathing in its stinking odours, gaining knowledge, it
is true, but paying dear for it in the golden coin of that finer
sensibility and that vigorous moral health which had formerly made his
life, to himself and to others, a joy and beauty. For the slime would
stick, do what he could, and with the smells he must become so familiar
that they no longer offended. That delicate discrimination that
immediately detects the presence of decay departed from him, and in its
place there developed a coarser sense whose characteristic was its power
to distinguish between sewage and sewage. Hence, morality, with him,
came to consist in the choosing of sewage of the less offensive forms.
On the other hand, consciousness of the brand of heresy drove him from
those scenes where the air is pure and from association with those high
souls who by mere living exhale spiritual health and fragrance.

"We do not see much of Mr. Boyle these days, Margaret," Mrs. Macdougall
would say to her friend, carefully modulating her tone lest she should
betray the anxiety of her gentle, loyal heart. "But I doubt not he is
very busy with his new duties."

"Yes, he is very busy," Margaret would reply, striving to guard her
voice with equal care, but with less success. For Margaret was cursed,
nay blessed, with that heart of in