The pastor lived in a small house adjoining the church, from which it was separated by a brick wall. A narrow gate allowed a passage from the chapel enclosure to the "Manse," as it was called. In the little plot of ground before the house Galbraith had tried to cultivate a garden, but his efforts were not particularly successful. Nothing would grow here except cocoa palms. There was an everlasting haze of soft dust in the air. The people were accustomed to it, but on a stranger the effect was suffocating. One felt choked in this spot where no pure air ever penetrated the wall of palms. It was never really cool, but a damp pall of dust hung over everything. On the morning we speak of Galbraith rose at an early hour, and, sitting in the small portico of his house, called for a cup of tea. After a little time his Goanese servant appeared, bearing a tray in his hands, on which was a tea-pot, a cup and saucer, with an electro-plated spoon lying beside it; there was a toast also, set in a drunken fashion in a rack. Manuel's appearance was not attractive, as he shuffled along with his burden, the ends of his toes stuck into a pair of slippers which clicked under his feet. He placed the tea things down on the small table beside Galbraith with a sulky slam that set the spoon twittering in the saucer, and said-- "Master's tea ready." The pastor poured himself out a cup, and looked for the milk and sugar. There was none. "Boy," said he, "where is the milk and the sugar?" "Yessar," and Manuel disappeared into the house. "It's very odd," mused Galbraith; "Manuel has been with me nearly two years now, and he persists in not bringing milk and sugar with my morning tea. I must really speak to him--perhaps it is a judgment on me for employing a follower of the Scarlet Woman." He stirred the tea he had poured out, and tasted it, but set it down with a wry face. "The old Adam is still strong within me," he said with a half-smile. "I can not bear tea alone." In the meantime Manuel reached the back of the house and looked round for the goat he had forgotten to milk. The goat was there, in the veranda, and at sight of him she fled toward the temple, the Goanese in hot pursuit. "Jesu Maria!" he exclaimed as he seized her at last. "But thou art accursed among beasts--stand still, pig, and be milked." He squeezed a certain amount of milk into a jug, and, giving the goat a parting kick, ran back into the house, the jug held at arm's-length in front of him. On a sideboard was a small glass bowl, in which there were a few lumps of sugar. Manuel transferred one to his mouth, and then taking up the basin in his disengaged hand hastened into the portico. He placed the milk and sugar on the table, and silently took up a position behind his master's back. "Manuel," began Galbraith. "Yessar." "Why is it that I have always to ask you about the milk and sugar. Negligent in these little matters, I fear that you neglect also your higher duties."