"Bad marksmanship, principally. I used to think I was a big man. But after the shooting I came to the conclusion that I must be rather small."
"Your heart is so big it's a wonder to me that you weren't shot through it, no matter where you were hit. But I tell you it seems good to see you in the flesh once more."
"Why didn't you come and preach for me last Sunday?" asked Philip, quizzically.
"Why, haven't you heard? I did not get news of the affair until last Saturday in my Western parish, and I was just in the throes of packing up to come on to Elmdale."
"Elmdale?"
"Yes, I've had a call there. So we shall be neighbors. Mrs. Burke is up there now getting the house straightened out, and I came right down here."
"So you are pastor of the Chapel Hill Church? It's a splendid opening for a young preacher. Congratulations, Alfred."
"Thank you, Philip. By the way, I saw by the paper that you had declined a call to Elmdale, so I suppose they pitched on me for a second choice. You never wrote me of their call to you," he said, a little reproachfully.
"It didn't occur to me," replied Philip, truthfully. "But how are you going to like it? Isn't it rather a dull old place?"
"Yes, I suspect it is, compared with Milton. I suppose you couldn't live without the excitement of dodging assassins and murderers every time you go out to prayer meeting or make parish calls. How do you like your work so far?"