ht enable him, possibly, to give May Webster a helping hand on her
road to Heaven.

Mr. Curzon was not one of those who believe that a clergyman's mission
is fulfilled by looking after the poor who are committed to his care.
He had seen enough of society to realize both its fascination and its
special temptations; and the well-to-do members of his flock were as
frequently included in his prayers as the poor, the afflicted, the
sick, or the unhappy.

It was of May and her needs that his heart was full as he turned from
the drive into the road, but as he did so he stumbled against a man's
figure propped against the gate-post. The man lurched heavily forward,
and would have fallen had not Mr. Curzon caught him in his arms,
peering at the same time into his face to see who it might be.

"Tom! Tom Burney! Poor lad," he exclaimed, with a heavy sigh, for the
mere touch of the inert body showed that Tom was not overcome by
illness but by drink.

"Tom!" said the rector, giving him a slight shake of the shoulders,
"rouse yourself, and get home to bed. To-morrow we will talk this
over, but you are in no fit state to listen to-night."

The familiar voice roused the muddled brain to some sense of shame, and
instinctively Tom's hand was raised to his cap.

"Beg your pardon, sir, but I won't go home; same roof shan't cover that
beast Dixon and me!"

The words reminded Mr. Curzon that Dixon, Burney, and several other men
employed at the Court were lodged in rooms over the coach-house and
stables; evidently Tom and Dixon had quarrelled.

"That's sheer nonsense!" he answered sharply. "I'm not going to leave
you out here all night, for the sake of your own character. If you
won't go without me, I shall take you."

Tom made some show of sullen resistance, but a sober man always has the
advantage over a tipsy one; and Mr. Curzon was physically so strong
that, drunk as Tom was, he knew he could enforce obedience. Once more,
therefore, the rector had to retrace his steps, and half supported,
half led, he presently landed Tom Burney in the stable-yard of the
Court. A light burning in one of the upper windows showed him that
somebody was still awake, and a whistle readily attracted the attention
of the occupant. The window was thrown wide and a head thrust out into
the night.

"So it's you, is it?" said a voice, that the rector recognized as
Dixon's. "It would serve you right to keep you out there all night."

"You hound