“He won't go home,” sighed the minister. “He's determined to stay. I suspect he would accept employment, if it were offered him in the right spirit.”
Miss Vane shook her head. “There's nothing I can think of except shovelling snow. And as yet it's rather warm October weather.”
“There's certainly no snow to shovel,” admitted Sewell. He rose disconsolately. “Well, there's nothing for it, I suppose, but to put him down at the Christian Union, and explain his checkered career to everybody who proposes to employ him.”
Miss Vane could not keep the laughter out of her eyes; she nervously tapped her lips with her handkerchief, to keep it from them. Suddenly she halted Sewell, in his dejected progress toward the door. “I might give him my furnace?”
“Furnace?” echoed Sewell.
“Yes. Jackson has 'struck' for twelve dollars a month, and at present there is a 'lock-out,'—I believe that's what it's called. And I had determined not to yield as long as the fine weather lasted. I knew I should give in at the first frost. I will take Barker now, if you think he can manage the furnace.”
“I've no doubt he can. Has Jackson really struck?” Miss Vane nodded. “He hasn't said anything to me about it.”
“He probably intends to make special terms to the clergy. But he told me he was putting up the rates on all his 'famblies' this winter.”
“If he puts them up on me, I will take Barker too,” said the minister boldly. “If he will come,” he added, with less courage. “Well, I will go round to the Lodge, and see what he thinks of it. Of course, he can't live upon ten dollars a month, and I must look him up something besides.”
“That's the only thing I can think of at present,” said Miss Vane.