side his congregation. The mentally sick, the despondent,
who needed words of hope and courage more than dry talks on theology,
found in him an ever ready friend and adviser, and these came to love
and depend on him. But he was never popular with the creed-bound element
of the church.

Mandy had her wish about being on the spot the first time that the
parson's jaw squared itself at Deacon Strong. The deacon had called
at the parsonage to demand that Douglas put a stop to the boys playing
baseball in the adjoining lot on Sunday. Douglas had been unable to see
the deacon's point of view. He declared that baseball was a healthy and
harmless form of exercise, that the air was meant to be breathed, and
that the boys who enjoyed the game on Sunday were principally those who
were kept indoors by work on other days. The close of the interview was
unsatisfactory both to Douglas and the deacon.

"Dey kinder made me cold an' prickly all up an' down de back," Mandy
said later, when she described their talk to Hasty. "Dat 'ere deacon
don' know nuffin' 'bout gittin' 'roun' de parson." She tossed her head
with a feeling of superiority. She knew the way. Make him forget himself
with a laugh. Excite his sympathy with some village underdog.

Chapter VII

MANDY had secretly enjoyed the commotion caused by the little
circus-rider being left in the parsonage, at first, because of her
inborn love of mischief, and later, because Polly had become second in
her heart only to the pastor. She went about her work, crooning softly
during the days of Polly's convalescence. The deep, steady voice of
the pastor reading aloud in the pretty window overhead was company. She
would often climb the stairs to tell them some bit of village gossip,
and leave them laughing at a quaint comment about some inquisitive
sister of the church, who had happened to incur her displeasure.

As spring came on, Douglas carried Polly down to the sun-lit garden
beneath the window; and Mandy fluttered about arranging the cushions
with motherly solicitude.

More days slipped by, and Polly began to creep through the little,
soft-leaved trees at the back of the church, and to look for the deep,
blue, sweet-scented violets. When she was able, Douglas took her with
him to visit some of the outlying houses of the poor. Her woman's
instinct was quick to perceive many small needs in their lives that he
had overlooked, and to suggest simple, inexpensive joys that made them
h