"I suppose you will go home with me, Brother Conway," he said, freezingly.
"Conway!" echoed the minister. "You mistake, sir! My name is Griffeth."
The deacon stared. "We were expecting the Reverend John Conway to preach to-day, as a candidate for our pulpit," he said, eyeing Mr. Griffeth suspiciously. "Do you come in his place?"
An expression of perplexity, instantly succeeded by one of poignant amusement, passed over the minister's face. Then he became grave. "It seems that I have come in his place," he said, "but most unwillingly. Brother Conway met with an accident which delayed him. He sent his regrets to you by me, and hopes he may be here this afternoon. Good-morning, sir! I will not burden your hospitality to-day."
The deacon's face cleared. It was a blessed relief to find that they would have no more to do with this man.
The stranger crossed the portico to where Melicent and Carl still lingered, having overheard this conversation. "I beg your pardon!" he said. "But will you have the kindness to tell me of what denomination the church is in which I have been preaching?"
"It is Baptist," Carl replied; "of the kind, I think, they call 'Hard-shelled.'"
"God be praised!" ejaculated the minister. "I have got into the wrong pulpit!"
Melicent immediately insisted on his going home with them. "We can at least protect you from the Hard-shells until your own friends find you," she said.
The invitation being cordially given, and seconded by Carl, the minister thankfully accepted it, and they started on their homeward way. "My blunder is likely to give great offence to one-half the town, and great amusement to the other half," he said, as they went along. "I am truly thankful to find a refuge from both."