er."

When they had had two glasses apiece Frank again inspected his
assistant.

"But say--do ministers in India do such darn common things as building
chicken houses? I can't remember ever seeing a minister mixing so
carelessly with us low-down sinners or standing around in public with
his sleeves rolled up and his frock coat off. Aren't you a queer breed
of parson?"

"Maybe," Cynthia's son admitted, "but so was father. He could help
bring a baby into the world, could wash and dress it, cure it if it was
sick, bury it if it died. He could teach a woman how to cook a meal
and cut out a dress. He knew how to heal a horse's sore back and how
to help a man get over needing whisky. He used to brush my mother's
hair nights when her head ached and make whistles for me and tell the
little brown children stories, study the stars with the old men and
coax the women into using his medicines instead of their charms."

"For heaven's sake! When did your father get time to talk religion?"
wondered Frank.

"Oh, he never talked religion much. He just sort of lived and
neighbored with his people and just laughed most of the time at mother
and me. He was always busy and never took care of himself. Just
before he died he explained things to me. He said:

"'Son, I came out of the West to bring a message to the East. You go
back to the West with a message from the Orient. Tell them back home
there that hearts are all alike the world over. And that we all, white
men, black men, yellow men and brown men, are playing the very same
game for the very same stakes and that somehow, through ways devious
and incomprehensible, through honesty and faith, failure and
perseverance, we find at last the great content, the peace that passeth
understanding.'

"So I have come home to preach that. But I haven't had time as yet to
do much. I've been getting up a Sunday-school class and getting Seth
Curtis interested in the church finances and getting acquainted with
Hank Lolly and Mrs. Rosenwinkle and--atheists."

"Yes--and among other things you've put Jim into the choir."

"Oh, that was easy--just common sense. It's going to be ever so much
harder though to get at Jim Tumley's generous friends and convince them
that Jim's stomach won't stand their friendly donations.

"I don't know how I'm going to show them that if they love him they
must protect him from themselves. It's going to be hard work. But
he's worth saving, that lit