CHAPTER XII.
An itinerant mendicant preacher had walked through the valley that day, and when night fell in he had gravitated to the parson's door.
"Seeing the sun low," he said, "and knowing it a long way to Keswick, and I not being able to abide the night air, but sure to catch a cold, I came straight to your house."
Like other guests of high degree, the shoeless being made a virtue of accepting hospitality.
"Come in, brother, and welcome," said Parson Christian; and that night the wayfarer lodged at the vicarage. He was a poor, straggle-headed creature, with a broken brain as well as a broken purse, but he had the warm seat at the ingle.
Greta heard Paul's step on the path and ran to meet him.
"Paul, Paul! thank God you are here at last!"
Her manner was warm and impulsive to seriousness, but Paul was in no humor to make nice distinctions.
Parson Christian rose from his seat before the fire and shook hands with feeling and gravity.
"Right glad to see you, good lad," he said. "This is Brother Jolly," he added, "a fellow-soldier of the cross, who has suffered sore for neglecting Solomon's injunction against suretyship."