ot welcome."

"Oh, you're perfectly welcome," said Philip, hastily, with some
embarrassment, while his strange visitor went on:

"I'm not crazy, only a little odd, you know. Perfectly harmless. It will
be perfectly safe for you to keep me over night."

The man spread his thin hands out before the fire, while Philip sat and
watched him with a certain fascination new to his interest in all sorts
and conditions of men.

Mrs. Strong brought in a substantial lunch of cold meat, bread and
butter, milk and fruit, and then placed it on a table in front of the
open fire, where he and his remarkable guest ate like hungry men.

It was after this lunch had been eaten and the table removed that a
scene occurred which would be incredible if its reality and truthfulness
did not compel us to record it as a part of the life of Philip Strong.
No one will wish to deny the power and significance of this event as it
is unfolded in the movement of this story.

CHAPTER XI

"I heard your sermon this morning,' said Philip's guest while Mrs.
Strong was removing the small table to the dining-room.

"Did you?" asked Philip, because he could not think of anything wiser to
say.

"Yes," said the strange visitor, simply. He was so silent after saying
this one word that Philip did what he never was in the habit of doing.
He always shrank back sensitively from asking for an opinion of his
preaching from any one except his wife. But now he could not help
saying:

"What did you think of it?"

"It was one of the best sermons I ever heard. But somehow it did not
sound sincere."

"What!" exclaimed Philip, almost angrily. If there was one thing he felt
sure about, it was the sincerity of his preaching. Then he checked his
feeling, as he thought how foolish it would be to get angry at a passing
tramp, who was probably a little out of his mind. Yet the man's remark
had a strange power over him. He tried to shake it off as he looked
harder at him. The man looked over at Philip and repeated gravely,
shaking his head, "Not sincere."

Mrs. Strong came back into the room, and Philip motioned her to sit down
near him while he said, "And what makes you think I was not sincere?"

"You said the age in which we lived demanded that people live in a far
simpler, less extravagant style."

"Yes, that is what I said. I believe it, too," replied Philip, clasping
his hands over his knee and gazing at his singular guest with
earnestness. The man's thi