"and I'm dum sure I would like a day off
now and then from preachin' and callin' on old maids, if I was you.
But there's times I might be willin' for to let you take my work for
yours."

"Now see here, if you'll do my work for a few days, I'll do yours."

"Well, what'd I have to do? I 'aint makin' any contract without
specifications."

"Well, suppose we say you do my work Saturday and Sunday. That means
you finish up two sermons, which must be original and interesting
when you are preaching to the same set of people about a hundred and
fifty times a year. Then you must go and see a woman who is always
complaining, and listen to her woes for three-quarters of an hour.
Then you must go and see what you can do for Tom Bradsaw, who is dying
of tuberculosis. Then you must conduct a choir rehearsal--not always
the highest gratification of a musical ear. Sunday, you must conduct
four services and try to rouse a handful of people, who stare at you
from the back pews, to some higher ideals of life and common decency,
Then----"

"Oh, heavens, man! Sure, an' that's enough; I stick to the stone wagon
every time."

"You'd be a fool if you didn't," replied Maxwell straightly. "Then
again you get your pay promptly every Saturday night. I never know
when I am going to get mine."

"You don't? Begad, and I wouldn't work for anybody if I wasn't paid
prompt. I'd sue the Bishop or the Pope, or somebody."

"Parsons don't sue: it's considered improper."

"Well, well," muttered the astonished Danny. "Be you sure you can
shovel stone then?" he asked.

Maxwell unbuttoned his wristband, rolled up his sleeve. "If I can't,
I'll know the reason why," he remarked tersely.

"That's the stuff," laughed Danny, looking at Maxwell's muscle. "I
guess I don't want to meet you out walkin' after dark without a gun.
But say, why don't you swat the Bishop one, and get your pay?"

"The Bishop isn't responsible."

"Well, I'll bet I know who is, dang him; and I'd like to swat him one
for you, the miserable old bag-of-bones."

"Never you mind, Danny; I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can, and I guess you're a laborin' man all right, even if
you don't belong to the Union. Why don't you get up a parson's Union
and go on strike? By Jove! I would. Let your parish go to----"

"Danny, don't you think it looks like rain?"

"No, neither do you; but here we are at the stone pile. My! but how
the fellers will grin when they see a tenderfoot like you