To the home missions of his denomination Mr. Worcester was a large and important contributor. Now and then an ecclesiastical Dives is to be found who gives a certain preference to the heathen of his own land before those of India, Africa, and Japan; Mr. Worcester had always been one of these illuminated men. Indeed, Japan, Africa, and India had been known to reflect upon the character of his Christianity for the reason that his checks were cashed for the benefit of Idaho, Tennessee, and the Carolinas. To this hour it had not occurred to Mr. Worcester that the heathen of Windover could be properly rated as in the home missionary field. Even the starving pastors in the northern counties of Vermont might have gratefully called for yearly barrels of his old clothes; but Windover? Why, that was within two hours of Boston! And, alas, the Vermont ministers were always “sound.” In Idaho, Tennessee, and the Carolinas, where was a corrupt theology to be found? But that phrase had lodged in some nick of Mr. Worcester’s mind; and he could no more brush it off than one can brush away a seed out of reach in the crevice of a rock. He regarded his nephew with a certain tolerance, warmly tinged by compassion. “The boy is a wreck,” he said to himself. “Manuel will die if this goes on. He might have expected it. And so might I.” The old man’s face worked. He spoke, crossly enough. Bayard remembered that he always used to be cross when he was touched. “What’s to happen now? Ready to give it up, Manuel?” “I am ready to begin all over again,” replied Emanuel, smiling. His voice had the ring that his uncle knew too well; when he was a little fellow, and bound to do a thing whether or no, he spoke in that tone, and always with that engaging smile. “Who pays for this phœnix?” asked the man of business brusquely. “I passed by your place. It is a fine heap of ashes. A curious sight I saw there, too. That sign you hang out--those four words.” Bayard nodded. “It _is_ a pleasant accident. The department says it is almost unprecedented. Oh, we shall crawl up somehow, Uncle! I don’t feel _very_ anxious. The town hall is already hired for temporary use. There is great excitement in the city over the whole affair. You see, it has reached the proportions, now, of a deadlock between the rum interest and the decent citizens. Our treasurer is circulating some sort of a paper. I think he hopes to collect a few hundreds--enough to tide us over till we can float off. I don’t know just how it is all coming out. Of course we can’t expect the help that an ordinary church would get in a similar trouble.” “I’m glad if you recognize that fact, Manuel,” replied Mr. Worcester uncomfortably. In his heart he was saying, “The boy has his mother’s splendid Worcester pride. He’ll perish here, like a starving eagle on a deserted crag, but he won’t _ask_ me!”