rs. He might have been--what? He might
have been where? If--if----

The sunrise of Joyce's wedding day was just breaking when Filmer's
Spectre gave up the struggle and sleep came. The only trophy of the
victory was the discarded flask, which lay untouched where the hand of
the master--for that time at least--had flung it.

CHAPTER VI

The word had passed along, and all St. Ange knew that Jock Filmer had a
raw specimen of a parson up at his shack, in safe keeping for the Sunday
events. For Joyce's wedding-day fell upon a Sunday.

"He's fattening him up," said Tom Smith, "and the Lord knows he needs
it! Such a spindling youngster I _never_ saw--a parson!" The contempt
was too deep for Smith's expression, so he gave up. "And to think,"
added the train conductor, stretching his long legs in Tate's tavern,
"there he was on my car, and I never sensed his ideas. Talk about
entertaining angels unaware, it ain't in it! He even cussed mild when I
told him his ticket was punched for Green Lake, and he was headed for
St. Ange. I never would have took him for anything but a plain milksop
till he let forth his opinions."

"I don't call it a proper attitude," broke in Tate, mixing a glass of
vile dilution for Murphy's consumption. "I don't call it a _proper_
attitude for a parson to appear so much like other folks that you can't
tell 'im. It's suspicious, says I. How do we know as he _is_ a parson?"

This suggestion caused the company a moment's pause.

"He better be!" muttered Peter Falstar. "He'd better be what he claims
to be, even if it _is_ a parson. We don't stand for any tricks from
strangers."

This lifted the spirits somewhat. Looked at _that_ way, they had the
matter in their own hands.

"I wonder"--Tate's face assumed its cheerful placidity--"if his marrying
of Jude and Joyce would hold in any court o' law?"

At this the listeners laughed.

"Who ever heard of a marriage in St. Ange getting to a court o' law?"
asked Tom Smith.

"But Jared ain't never had a daughter married before." Tate nodded his
head sagely. "Jared's a deep one, and, taken off his guard, shows he
knows more about law and order than any one man I ever let my eyes fall
on."

"He must be all-fired off his guard," jeered Falstar, "when he talks
order of any kind. Where is he, anyway?"

"Exactly." Tate held his own glass high and firm. "_Where_ is he? Here
is his daughter's wedding day--Where is he? I tell _you_ if that
marriage ain't