“If I had met him away—but he is so much a part of that kitchen and study, that I’m afraid I shall not be fair to him. At first he was nothing but big, to me; big and ashamed; then nothing but red beard and eyebrows, and then eyes; his voice is as big as he is. I liked his sermon that other time you exchanged; he is a man in earnest.”
“A man burning with enthusiasm! He came to Meadow Centre—his parish covers three miles in two directions,—only because he was needed there. He refused twice the salary, a pitiful little salary it is, that he might try to bring that church back,—to keep it from being swallowed up; his father was born there—he has a love for the church and people; we passed a deserted church on the way here, a mile ahead of us; Meadow Centre will be another deserted church before many years—there are deserted farms in this neighborhood.”
“But the people will find a church somewhere.”
“There’s a new church where we went this afternoon; it is taking his people, his grandfather’s people.”
“I should think it would. The church is out of repair—there’s nothing pretty about it. I don’t believe he can keep the people together.”
“Then he will help them scatter. He will do something for them. He wanted this experience, and he could afford to take it.”
“Did you promise to exchange Sunday?”
“Yes. I will drive home after evening service. He will stay over night with us. I wish we might keep him a week. He took me to see a place for a new church. He is a born organizer—”
“Outside of the kitchen,” laughed Judith.
“I wish he had a wife,” said Roger.