when Maxwell arrived at the church, clad in
overalls and riding on a wagon of planks, he found Mrs. Burke and
Nickey with a contingent of stalwarts awaiting him. There was a heap
of canvas and some coils of rope lying on the ground near by. Hepsey
greeted him with a smile from under the shade of her sun-bonnet.

"You seem ready for business, even if you don't look a little bit like
the Archbishop of Canterbury in that rig," she remarked. "I'm afraid
there'll be an awful scandal in the parish if you go wanderin' around
dressed like a carpenter; but it can't be helped; and if the Bishop
excommunicates you, I'll give you a job on the farm."

"I don't mind about the looks of it; but I suppose the vestry will
have something to say about our camping on church property."

"That needn't worry you. Maybe it'll bring 'em to their senses, and
maybe, they'll be ashamed when they see their parson driven out of his
house and havin' to live in a tent,--though I 'aint holdin' out much
hope of that, to you. Folks that are the most religious are usually
the hardest to shame. I always said, financially speakin', that
preachin' wasn't a sound business. It's all give and no get; but this
is the first time I've ever heard of a parish wanting a parson to
preach without eating and to sleep without a roof over his head. Most
of us seem to forget that rectors are human being like the rest of us.
If religion is worth havin', it's worth payin' for."

The planking was soon laid, and the erection of the tent was left to
Nickey's captaining--all hands assisting. With his manual in one hand
he laid it out, rope by rope, poles in position, and each helper at
his place. Then at a word, up it soared, with a "bravo" from the
puzzled onlookers.

"We want a poet here," laughed Maxwell. "Longfellow's 'Building of the
Ship,' or Ralph Connor's 'Building the Barn' aren't a circumstance to
Nickey's 'Pitching the Parson's Tent.'"

It was next divided off into three convenient rooms, for sleeping,
eating and cooking--and Hepsey, with three scouts, having driven
across to the old rectory while the finishing touches were being put
to the new, she and her military escort soon returned with Mrs. Betty,
and a load of furniture and other belongings.

"Why, this is perfect!" cried Betty. "The only thing lacking to
complete the illusion is a trout brook in the front yard, and the
smell of pines and the damp mossy earth of the forests. We'll wear our
old clothes,