locked by unmanageable circumstances and
uncompromising facts as he found facing him that Sunday morning. He
confided his difficulty to Tommy Tate, whom he had found in "Mexico's"
saloon toning up his system after his long illness, and whom he had
straightway carried off with him.

"I guess it's either you or me, Tommy."

"Bedad, it's yersilf that c'd do that same, an' divil a wan av the bhoys
will 'Mexico' git this night, wance the news gits about."

"Don't talk rot, Tommy," said Barney angrily, for the chance of his
being forced to take his brother's place, which all along had seemed
to be extremely remote, had come appreciably nearer. With the energy of
desperation he spent the hours of the afternoon visiting, explaining,
urging, cajoling, threatening anyone of the members or adherents of the
congregation at Bull Crossing in whom might be supposed to dwell the
faintest echo of the spirit of the preacher. One after another, however,
those upon whom he had built his hopes failed him. One was out of
town, another he found sick in bed, and a third refused point blank
to consider the request, so that within a few minutes of the hour of
service he found himself without a preacher and wholly desperate, and
for the first time he seriously faced the possibility of having to take
the service himself. He returned to the shack of one of his brother's
parishioners, where Margaret was staying, and abruptly announced to her
his failure.

"Can't get a soul, and of course I can't do it, Margaret. You know, I
can't," he repeated, in answer to the look upon her face. "Why, it was
only last week I fleeced 'Mexico' out of a couple of hundred. He would
give a good deal more to get even. The crowd would hoot me out of
the building. Not that I care for that"--the long jaws came hard
together--"but it's just too ghastly to think of."

"It isn't so very terrible, Barney," said Margaret, her voice and eyes
uniting in earnest persuasion. "You are not the man you were last week.
You know you are not. You are quite different, and you will be different
all your life. A great change has come to you. What made the change? You
know it was God's great mercy that took the bitterness out of your heart
and that changed everything. Can't you tell them this?"

"Tell them that, Margaret? Great Heavens! Could I tell them that? What
would they say?"

"Barney," asked Margaret, "you are not afraid of them? You are not
ashamed to tell what you owe to God