was rather
tall, with a clean-shaven, thoughtful face, and hair beginning to turn
grey.

A few days later a newspaper arrived by post. He had received several
already from well-meaning friends, each with that group in it, and he
sighed as he opened this one. It was quite a different paper, however,
with no illustrations, but with a certain page indicated in blue
pencil, and a blue pencil mark in the margin of that page. What his
attention was called to was simply the announcement that the Rev. Mr
Maxwell, minister of the parish of Myredale, had been appointed to
another charge, and that there was now a vacancy there.

Mr Burnett looked at the wrapper, but his name and address had been
typewritten and gave him no clue. He wondered who had sent him the
paper, and then his thoughts naturally turned to the vacant parish. He
knew that it lay in a certain group of northern islands, which we may
call here the Windy Isles, and he presumed that the stipend would not
be great. Still, it was probably a better living than his own small
parish, and as for its remoteness, well, he liked quiet, out-of-the-way
places, and it would certainly be a complete change of scene. He let
the matter lie in the back of his mind, and there it would very likely
have remained but for a curious circumstance on the following Sunday.

His little parish church was seldom visited by strangers, and when by
any chance one did appear, the minister was very quickly conscious of
the fact. He always took stock of his congregation during the first
psalm, and on this Sabbath his experienced eye had noted a stranger
before the end of the opening verse. A pleasant-looking gentleman in
spectacles he appeared to be, and of a most exemplary and devout habit
of mind. In fact, he hardly once seemed to take his spectacled gaze
off the minister's face during the whole service; and Mr Burnett
believed in giving his congregation good measure.

It was a fine day, and when service was over the minister walked back
to his manse at a very leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine after a
week of showery weather. The road he followed crossed the river, and
as he approached the bridge he saw the same stranger leaning over the
parapet, smoking a cigar, and gazing at the brown stream. Near him at
the side of the road was drawn up a large dark-green touring car, which
apparently the gentleman had driven himself, for there was no sign of a
chauffeur.

"Good day, sir!" s