to remain in this church"--the deacon stepped forward
eagerly--"were it not that I realise more than ever before how much
you need me, how much you ignorant, narrow-minded creatures need to
be taught the meaning of true Christianity." The deacon was plainly
disappointed.

"Is it possible?" gasped Elverson, weakly.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Strong, when he could
trust himself to speak again.

"I shall do what is best for Miss Polly," said the pastor quietly but
firmly.

He turned away to show that the interview was at an end. Strong followed
him. Douglas pointed to the gate with a meaning not to be mistaken.
"Good afternoon, deacon."

Strong hesitated. He looked at the pastor, then at the gate, then at the
pastor again. "I'll go," he shouted; "but it ain't the end!" He slammed
the gate behind him.

"Quite so, quite so," chirped Elverson, not having the slightest idea of
what he was saying. He saw the frigid expression on the pastor's face,
he coughed behind his hat, and followed Strong.

Chapter X

Douglas dropped wearily onto the rustic bench. He sat with drooped head
and unseeing eyes. He did not hear Polly as she scurried down the path,
her arms filled with autumn leaves. She glanced at him, dropped the
bright-coloured foliage, and slipped quickly to the nearest tree. "One,
two, three for Mr. John," she cried, as she patted the huge, brown
trunk.

"Is that you, Polly?" he asked absently.

"Now, it's your turn to catch me," she said, lingering near the tree.
The pastor was again lost in thought. "Aren't you going to play any
more?" There was a shade of disappointment in her voice. She came slowly
to his side.

"Sit here, Polly," he answered gravely, pointing to a place on the
bench. "I want to talk to you."

"Now, I've done something wrong," she pouted. She gathered up her
garlands and brought them to a place near his feet, ignoring the seat at
his side. "You might just as well tell me and get it over."

"You couldn't do anything wrong," he answered, looking down at her.

"Oh, yes, I could--and I've done it--I can see it in your face. What is
it?"

"What have you there?" he asked, trying to gain time, and not knowing
how to broach the subject that in justice to her must be discussed.

"Some leaves to make garlands for the social," Polly answered more
cheerfully. "Would you mind holding this?" She gave him one end of a
string of leaves.

"Where are the children?"

"G