see our butterflies
just as they would have run to see the dog-faced boy or the bearded
lady--merely for something to see. But this man's appreciation and
praise were both sincere and encouraging. And as he never allowed
anything or anybody unusual or interesting to pass him by without at
least sampling its savor, he formed the habit of strolling over to the
Parish House to talk with the limping man who had come there a dying
tramp, was now a scientist, with the manner and appearance of a
gentleman, and who spoke at will the language of two worlds. That this
once black sheep had strayed of his own will and pleasure from some
notable fold Hunter didn't for a moment doubt. Like all Appleboro, he
wouldn't have been at all surprised to see this prodigal son welcomed
into the bosom of some Fifth Avenue father, and have the fatted calf
dressed for him by a chef whose salary might have hired three college
professors. Hunter had known one or two such black sheep in his time;
he fancied himself none too shrewd in thus penetrating Flint's rather
obvious secret.

My mother watched the secretary's comings and goings at the Parish
House speculatively. Not even the fact that he quoted her adored La
Rochefoucauld, in flawless French, softened _her_ estimate.

"If he even had the semblance of a heart!" said she, regretfully. "But
he is all head, that one."

Now, I am a simple man, and this cultivated and handsome man of the
world delighted me. To me immured in a mill town he brought the modern
world's best. He was a window, for me, which let in light.

"That great blonde!" said Madame, wonderingly. "He is so designedly
fascinating I wonder you fail to see the wheels go 'round. However,
let me admit that I thank God devoutly I am no longer young and
susceptible. Consider the terrible power such a man might exert over
an ardent and unsophisticated heart!"

It was Hunter who had brought me a slim book, making known to me a
poet I had otherwise missed.

"You are sure to like Bridges," he told me, "for the sake of one
verse. Have you ever thought _why_ I like you, Father De Rance?
Because you amuse me. I see in you one of life's subtlest ironies: A
Greek beauty-worshiper posing as a Catholic priest--in Appleboro!" He
laughed. And then, with real feeling, he read in his resonant voice:

"I love all beautiful things:
I seek and adore them.
God has no better praise,
And man in his hasty days,
Is honored for them.