It was quite true; the rector had joined the girls and the preacher, and they walked on together as far as the park gates, talking of Martha and her great sorrow and great faith. Then the preacher turned back, carrying with him to his little chapel the strength that comes from real Christian sympathy and communion.
“What clear prophetic eyes that Mr. North has,” said the rector, as they walked thoughtfully under the green arches of the elms.
“He lives very near to the other world,” said Phyllis; “I think his eyes have got that clear far-off look with habitually gazing into eternity. It is a great privilege to talk to him, for one always feels that he is just from the presence of God.”
“I have heard that you are a Dissenter, Miss Fontaine.”
“O no, I am not. I am a Methodist.”
“That is what I meant.”
“But the two are not the same. I am quite sure that the line between Dissent and Methodism has been well defined from the beginning.”
The rector smiled tolerantly down at Phyllis’s bright thoughtful face, and said: “Do young ladies in America study theological history?”
“I think most of them like to understand the foundation upon which their spiritual faith is built. I have found every side study of Methodism very interesting. Methodism is a more charitable and a more spiritual thing than Dissent.”
“Are you sure of that?”