rofession calling for the lowly-hearted of the whole world," he told
himself.

After he had his books arranged he sat down in an armchair beside a
front window, and felt rather happy and at home. He reproached
himself for his content when he read the morning paper, and
considered the horrors going on in Europe. Why should he, an
able-bodied man, sit securely in a room and gaze out at a peaceful
village street? he asked himself as he had scores of times before.
Then the imperial individual, which obtrudes even when conscience
cries out against it, occupied his mind. Pretty Fanny Dodge in her
blue linen was passing. She never once glanced at the parsonage.
Forgetting his own scruples and resolves, he thought unreasonably
that she might at least glance up, if she had the day before at all
in her mind. Suddenly the unwelcome reflection that he might not be
as desirable as he had thought himself came over him.

He got up, put on his hat, and walked rapidly in the direction of the
old Bolton house. Satisfying his curiosity might serve as a
palliative to his sudden depression with regard to his love affair.
It is very much more comfortable to consider oneself a cad, and
acknowledge to oneself love for a girl, and be sure of her
unfortunate love for you, than to consider oneself the dupe of the
girl. Fanny had a keen sense of humor. Suppose she had been making
fun of him. Suppose she had her own aspirations in other quarters. He
walked on until he reached the old Bolton house. The door stood open,
askew upon rusty hinges. Wesley Elliot entered and glanced about him
with growing curiosity. The room was obviously a kitchen, one side
being occupied by a huge brick chimney inclosing a built-in range
half devoured with rust; wall cupboards, a sink and a decrepit table
showed gray and ugly in the greenish light of two tall windows,
completely blocked on the outside with over-grown shrubs. An
indescribable odor of decaying plaster, chimney-soot and mildew hung
in the heavy air.

A door to the right, also half open, led the investigator further.
Here the floor shook ominously under foot, suggesting rotten beams
and unsteady sills. The minister walked cautiously, noting in passing
a portrait defaced with cobwebs over the marble mantelpiece and the
great circular window opening upon an expanse of tangled grass and
weeds, through which the sun streamed hot and yellow. Voices came
from an adjoining room; he could hear Deacon Whittle's