"Yes; he spoke of you. Samuel, I have something to say to you of a very serious nature."
"We have nine dollars and seventy-seven cents," said the senior warden.
"Your father," said Dr. Lavendar, "has expressed a willingness to see you."
Mr. Wright put the money into a small canvas bag, and pulling the drawing-string up, wound it round and round the top; his hands trembled.
"He has some concern about your Sam—as you have yourself. He is disturbed because the boy has lost his heart to your tenant, Mrs. Richie."
"Call it twelve dollars," Samuel said, embarrassed to the point of munificence. He put the canvas bag in his pocket, and rose. "I'll deposit this to-morrow, sir," he added, as he had added every Sunday morning for the last twenty years.
"Samuel," said Dr. Lavendar, sternly, "sit down!"
With involuntary haste the senior warden sat down, but he would not look at Dr. Lavendar. "It is not my purpose or desire," he said, "to be disrespectful, but I must request you, sir—"
"To mind my own business? I will, Sam, I will. My business is to admonish you: Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way. First, be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift."
Samuel Wright cleared his throat. "I cannot, Dr. Lavendar, discuss this matter with you. I must be my own judge."