"How can I help it?" said the priest, impetuously. "The spirit which your church efforts have awakened has spread throughout the town and affected everybody. There are men—and some women—of my flock whom I've been trying in vain for years to bring to confession, so as to start them on a new life. I've coaxed them, threatened them, prayed for them with tears of agony, for what soul is not dear to our Saviour? The worse the soul, the more the Saviour yearns to reclaim it. You remember the parable of the ninety-and-nine?"
"Who can forget it?" said the reverend doctor, tears springing to his eyes.
"No one, my dear brother,—no one," replied the priest. "Well, my lost sheep have all come back. The invisible Church has helped the visible, and—"
"Is my Church, then, invisible?" asked Dr. Guide, with a quick relapse into his old-time manner.
"My dear brother," exclaimed the priest, "which is the greater? Which exists only for the other?"
"I beg your pardon," said Dr. Guide, his face thawing in an instant.
"Again I thank you from the depths of my heart," said the old priest, "and—"
"Father Black," interrupted the pastor, "the more you thank me the more uncomfortable I feel. Whatever credit is awarded, except to Heaven, for the great and unexpected experiences which have been made manifest at my church, belongs entirely to a man who, being the lowest of the low, has set forth an example of perfect obedience."
"That poor cobbler? You are right, I verily believe, and I shall go at once to pour out my heart to him."
"Let me go with you, Father—Brother, Black. I—" here Dr. Guide's face broke into a confidential smile,—"I want to go to confession myself, for the first time in my life, if you will allow the cobbler to be my priest. I want a reputable witness, too."