“I’ve kep’ my eye on it, for you,” she said in a softened voice. “Well,” said Job Slip slowly, “I guess _I_’ll keep my eye on _him_.” “Do!” answered the stranger heartily. “I wish you would. They don’t fight where I’m going.” “Who be you, anyway?” demanded Job Slip with undisguised admiration. He had not made up his mind yet whether to spring at the other’s throat, or to offer him a drink. “I’m in too much of a hurry to tell you now,” answered the gentleman quietly. “I’ve missed the most important engagement of my life--to save your child.” “He’s goin’ to his weddin’,” muttered a voice behind him. The girl started the chorus of a song which he had never heard before, and was not anxious to hear again. “You have a good voice,” he said, turning. “You can put it to a better use than that.” She stared at him, but made him no reply. The crowd parted and scattered, and he came through into the main street. “Sir! Sir!” called a woman’s voice from a window over his head. The young man looked up. The mother of the little boy held the child upon the window-sill for him to see. “He ain’t much hurt!” she cried. “I thought you’d like to know it. It’s all along of you. God go with you, sir! God bless you, sir!” He had put on his hat, but removed it at these words, and stood uncovered before the drunkard’s wife. She could not know how much it meant to him--that day. Without looking back he strode up the street. The Italian ran out and watched him. Job Slip hesitated for a moment; then he did the same, following the young man with perplexed and sodden eyes. The Italian stood amiably beside his late antagonist. Both men had forgotten what they fought about, now. A little group from the vanishing crowd joined them. The mother in the window--a gaunt Madonna--shaded her eyes with her hand to see the departing figure of the unknown while she pressed the bruised and sobbing child against her breast. The stranger halted at the steps of the old First Church of Windover; then ran up lightly, and disappeared within the open doors. “I’ll be split and salted!” said a young man who had not been drinking, “if I don’t believe that’s the new parson come to town!” The speaker had black eyebrows which met in a straight and heavy line. “I’ll be ----!” said Job Slip. * * * * * The church was thronged. Citizens and strangers jostled each other in the porch, the vestibules, and the aisles. It was one of those religious festivals so dear to the heart of New England, and so perplexing to gayer people. No metropolitan play could have collected a crowd like this in Windover.