Then
Polwarth seldom went to a place of worship, and when he did, went to
church! A cranky, visionary, talkative man, he was in Mr. Drake's eyes.
He set him down as one of those mystical interpreters of the Word, who
are always searching it for strange things, whose very insight leads
them to vagary, blinding them to the relative value of things. It is
amazing from what a mere fraction of fact concerning him, a man will
dare judge the whole of another man. In reality, little Polwarth could
have carried big Drake to the top of any hill Difficulty, up which, in
his spiritual pilgrimage, he had yet had to go panting and groaning--and
to the top of many another besides, within sight even of which the
minister would never come in this world.

"He is too ready with his spiritual experience, that little man!--too
fond of airing it," said the minister to his daughter. "I don't quite
know what to make of him. He is a favorite with Mr. Wingfold; but my
experience makes me doubtful. I suspect prodigies."

Now Polwarth was not in the habit of airing his religious experiences;
but all Glaston could see that the minister was in trouble, and he
caught at the first opportunity he had of showing his sympathy with him,
offering him a share of the comfort he had just been receiving himself.
He smiled at its apparent rejection, and closed the gate softly, saying
to himself that the good man would think of it yet, he was sure.

Dorothy took little interest in Polwarth, little therefore in her
father's judgment of him. But, better even than Wingfold himself, that
poor physical failure of a man could have helped her from under every
gravestone that was now crushing the life out of her--not so much from
superiority of intellect, certainly not from superiority of learning,
but mainly because he was alive all through, because the life eternal
pervaded every atom of his life, every thought, every action. Door nor
window of his being had a lock to it! All of them were always on the
swing to the wind that bloweth where it listeth. Upon occasions when
most would seek refuge from the dark sky and gusty weather of trouble,
by hiding from the messengers of Satan in the deepest cellar of their
hearts, there to sit grumbling, Polwarth always went out into the open
air. If the wind was rough, there was none the less life in it: the
breath of God, it was rough to blow the faults from him, genial to put
fresh energy in him; if the rain fell, it was the wa