"Everywhere where he is," said Wolffert, quietly.
"What sort of a preacher is he?"
"The best on earth, not with words, but with deeds. His life is his best sermon."
I told him frankly why I had not gone, though I was ashamed, for we had grown confidential in our talk. But Wolffert assured me that John Marvel would never think of anything but the happiness of meeting me again.
"He is a friend whom God gives to a man once in his lifetime," he said, as he took his leave. "Cherish such an one. His love surpasseth the love of women."
"Has he improved?" I asked.
A little spark flashed in Wolffert's eyes. "He did not need to improve. He has only ripened. God endowed him with a heart big enough to embrace all humanity—except—" he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "the Jew."
"I do not believe that."
"By the way, I have a friend who tells me she has met you. Your dog appears to have made quite an impression on her."
"Who is she?"