er washed his hands! Wa'n't that good as a
show, and then getting up and preaching like Gabriel afterward? Mack,
you ain't got no idea what he made me think of, have you?"

"Not in the least. What?"

"I heard a preacher tell a yarn once about a pilot washing his hands in
hell. It struck me queer about there being a river in hell. If it's as
hot down there as I've heard it described, you'd think the surroundings
would sizzle her up. But that's what the preacher said about this pilot,
whose last name I rec'lect was Pontyhouse. His stay was to be purty
tolerable long with his Satanic majesty. I've always felt sorry for that
chap, seemed kind of lonely, but as I figger it out he's going to have
company one of these hot days."

Mr. McGowan looked up.

"You just bet he is. I knew that Means chap afore he took to religion,
and if he's slated for heavenly bliss I'm going to put in my papers for
the other place, alongside the scrubbing pilot."

"You mean----"

"I mean that one of us is going to keep that feller company in hell.
Beyond that you'll have to guess," said the Captain, rising. "Only don't
you tie too tight to Means, that's all. Good night, I'm going to turn
in."

"All right, Cap'n, I'll promise," replied Mr. McGowan, smiling
appreciatively.

"You'd best go to bed, too, Mack. You're mighty tired."

But the minister did not follow his friend's advice about retiring. He
sat at his desk. The angry men of the afternoon slowly faded from his
thoughts, and into the center of his consciousness came the vision of
the loveliest face he had ever seen. He recalled the words of frank
approval with which Miss Fox had met him after the evening service, and
the cordial manner she had shown. Not that he was in love with one of
the members of his church. That would never do. But there was something
different about the Elder's daughter, something which appealed to his
sense of the beautiful. This, he told himself, he could enjoy without
overstepping the conventions.

The next day he was to dine at the Fox home.

CHAPTER III

On the following evening, just as early as the rules of propriety would
permit, Mr. McGowan turned into the private road that led up to the Fox
estate. He walked slowly along the wide avenue beneath the spreading
elms and stately chestnuts. He had dined with the Elder many times
during the few months he had been in the village, but on those other
occasions Elizabeth had been absent. The house