Bayard made no answer to this scintillation; a spark shot over his soft and laughing eyes; but his lips opened only to say, after a perceptible pause,-- “Where is Tompkinton--he of the long legs and the army cape?” “Settled somewhere near you, I hear; over across the Cape. He has a fine parish. He’s to have two thousand--that’s doing well for a man of his stamp.” “I don’t think Tompkinton is the kind of man to think much about the salary,” observed Bayard gravely. “He struck me as the other sort of fellow. What’s become of Bent?” “Graduates this summer, I suppose. I hear he’s called to Roxbury. He always aimed at a Boston parish. He’s sure to boom.” “And that brakeman--Holt? He who admired Huxley’s ‘Descent of Man’?” “Oh, _he_ is slumming in New York city. They say he is really very useful. He has some sort of mission work, there, at the Five Points. I’m told he makes a specialty of converted burglars.” “I haven’t been able to follow any of the boys,” said Bayard, coughing. “I can’t very well--as I am situated. It does me good to hear something about somebody. Where’s that round fellow--Jaynes? With the round glasses? I remember he always ate two Baldwins, two entire Baldwin apples.” “Gone West, I believe. He’s admirably adapted to the West,” replied Fenton, settling his chair in his old comfortable way. “What an assorted lot we were!” said Bayard dreamily. “And what a medley we were taught! I haven’t opened one of my note-books since I came here.” “Oh, in _your_ work,” said Fenton, “you don’t need to read, I should think.” Bayard’s eyes sought his library; rested lovingly on its full and well-used shelves; then turned away with the expression of one who says to a chosen friend: “We understand. Why need anything be said?” He did not otherwise reply. “Were you ever ordained over your present charge?” asked his visitor suddenly, balancing the poker on the top curl of the iron angel that ornamented the cylinder stove. “How did you manage it? Did any of the--regular clergy--recognize the affair?” “I was not ordained,” replied Bayard, smiling contentedly. “I sought nothing of the kind. But a few of the country ministers wished us Godspeed. There was one dear old man--he was my moderator at that Council--he came over and put his hands on my head, and gave me the blessing.” “Oh--the charge to the pastor?” “We didn’t call it that. We did not steal any of the old phrases. He prayed and blessed me, that was all. He is a sincere, good man, and he made something impressive out of it, my people said. At all events they were satisfied. We have to do things in our own way, you know. We are experimenting, of course.” “I should say that was a pretty serious experiment you inaugurated to-night in your service. If you’ll allow me to say so, I should call it very ill-advised.” “It _is_ a serious experiment,” replied Bayard gravely. “Expect to succeed in it?” “God knows.” “Bound to go on with it?” “Till I succeed or fail.”