oted things!"

Others gave similar counsel. The result was that the young man became
still more interested in these people who seemed to hate him and all he
stood for so profoundly. He wished he might hear their side of the case
and judge it for himself. It may as well be acknowledged now that John
Ellery had a habit of wishing to judge for himself. This is not always a
politic habit in a country minister.

The sun of the following Thursday morning rose behind a curtain of fog
as dense as that of the day upon which Ellery arrived. A flat calm in
the forenoon, the wind changed about three o'clock and, beginning with
a sharp and sudden squall from the northwest, blew hard and steady. Yet
the fog still cloaked everything and refused to be blown away.

"There's rain astern," observed Captain Zeb, with the air of authority
which belongs to seafaring men when speaking of the weather. "We'll get
a hard, driving rain afore mornin', you see. Then, if she still holds
from the northwest'ard, it'll fair off fine."

"Goin' out in this, Mr. Ellery!" exclaimed Keziah, in amazement, as the
minister put on his hat and coat about seven that evening. "Sakes alive!
you won't be able to see the way to the gate. It's as dark as a nigger's
pocket and thicker than young ones in a poor man's family, as my father
used to say. You'll be wet through. Where in the world are you bound for
THIS night?"

The minister equivocated. He said he had been in the house all day and
felt like a walk.

"Well, take an umbrella, then," was the housekeeper's advice. "You'll
need it before you get back, I cal'late."

It was dark enough and thick enough, in all conscience. The main road
was a black, wet void, through which gleams from lighted windows were
but vague, yellow blotches. The umbrella was useful in the same way
that a blind man's cane is useful, in feeling the way. The two or
three stragglers who met the minister carried lanterns. One of these
stragglers was Mr. Pepper. Kyan was astonished.

"Well, I snum!" cried Kyan, raising the lantern. "If 'tain't Mr. Ellery.
Where you bound this kind of night?"

Before the minister could answer, a stately figure appeared and joined
the pair. Lavinia, of course.

"Well, Mr. Ellery," she said. "Ain't you lost, out in this fog? Anybody
sick?"

No, no one was sick.

"That's a mercy. Goin' callin', be you?"

"No."

"Hum! Queer weather for a walk, I call it. Won't be many out to-night,
except Come-Outers