Till long after midnight Shock sat over the fire pondering the events of the day, and trying to make real to himself the strange series of happenings that had marked his introduction to his work in this country. His life for the last month had been so unlike anything in his past as to seem quite unnatural.
As he sat thus musing over the past and planning for the future, a knock came to the door, and almost immediately there came in a little man, short and squat, with humped shoulders, bushy, grizzled hair and beard, through which peered sharp little black eyes. His head and face and eyes made one think of a little Scotch terrier.
"Ye're the meenister?" he said briefly.
"Yes," replied Shock, greatly surprised at his visitor, but warming to the Scotch voice.
"Aye. Ye're wanted."
"Wanted? By whom?"
"The man that lives in this hoose. He's deein', I'm thinkin'."
"Dying!" said Shock, starting up and seizing his hat. "What! Ike?"
"Aye, Ike. He's verra ill."
"Go on, then," said Shock. "Quick!"