very great thing in itself just now, but it may improve, and there is
always the prospect of picking up other work of the same kind.'

The Canon, who had never seen even an abstract of one of his own sermons
in print, had a proper reverence for the men who guide the world's
thought through the press.

'That is very good, Conneally--very satisfactory indeed. I always knew
you had brains. But why did you never tell me what you were doing? I
should have been deeply interested in anything you wrote.'

Hyacinth's conscience smote him.

'The truth is, that I was sure you wouldn't approve of the paper I
wrote for. It is the _Croppy_, the organ of the extreme left wing of the
Nationalist party. It is Miss Goold--Augusta Goold--who now offers me
work on that paper. She says---- But you had better read what she says
for yourself. Then you will know the worst of it.'

He took the letter from his pocket. The Canon lit a candle and read it
through slowly and attentively. When he had finished he laid it upon the
table and sat down. Hyacinth waited in extreme anxiety for what was to
come.

'I do not like the cause you mean to work for or the people you call
your friends. I would rather see my daughter's husband doing almost
anything else in the world. I would be happier if you proposed to break
stones upon the roadside. You know what my political opinions are.
I regard the _Croppy_ as a disloyal and seditious paper, bent upon
fostering a dangerous spirit.'

Hyacinth listened patiently. He had steeled himself against the hearing
of some such words, and was determined not to be moved to argument or
self-defence except as a last resort.

'I hope,' he said, 'that you will at least give me credit for honestly
acting in accordance with my convictions.'

'I am sure--quite sure--that you are honest, and believe that your cause
is the right one. I recognise, too, though this is a very difficult
thing to do, that you have every right to form and hold your own
political opinions. It seems to me that they are very wrong and very
mischievous, but it is quite possible that I am mistaken and prejudiced.
In any case, I am not called upon to refuse you my affection or to
separate you from my daughter because we differ about politics.'

Hyacinth breathed a great sigh of relief. He looked at the Canon in
wonder and admiration. It had been beyond hope that a man grown gray in
a narrow faith, a faith in which for centuries religion and politi