The minister saw clearly the things which he had to combat in his community, and through this one victim he determined to fight the general evil. The people with whom he had to deal were children who must be led by the hand. The boy lying in drunken sleep upon his bed was no worse than the rest of them. He was an epitome of the evil, as his parents were of the sorrows, of the place. He could not talk to Elias. He could not lecture him. He would only be dashing his words against the accumulated evil of years of bondage as the ripples of a summer sea beat against a stone wall. It was not the wickedness of this boy he was fighting or even the wrong-doing of Mt. Hope. It was the aggregation of the evils of the fathers, the grandfathers, the masters and mistresses of these people. Against this what could talk avail? The boy slept on, and the afternoon passed heavily away. Aunt Caroline was finding solace in her pipe, and Stephen Gray sulked in moody silence beside the hearth. Neither of them joined their guest at evening service. [Illustration: “AUNT CAROLINE WAS FINDING SOLACE IN THE PIPE.”] He went, however. It was hard to face those people again after the events of the morning. He could feel them covertly nudging each other and grinning as he went up to the pulpit. He chided himself for the momentary annoyance it caused him. Were they not like so many naughty, irresponsible children? The service passed without unpleasantness, save that he went home with an annoyingly vivid impression of a yellow girl with red ribbons on her hat, who pretended to be impressed by his sermon and made eyes at him from behind her handkerchief. On the way to his room that night, as he passed Stephen Gray, the old man whispered huskily, “It’s de fus’ time ’Lias evah done dat.” It was the only word he had spoken since morning. A sound sleep refreshed Dokesbury, and restored the tone to his overtaxed nerves. When he came out in the morning, Elias was already in the kitchen. He too had slept off his indisposition, but it had been succeeded by a painful embarrassment that proved an effectual barrier to all intercourse with him. The minister talked lightly and amusingly, but the boy never raised his eyes from his plate, and only spoke when he was compelled to answer some direct questions. Harold Dokesbury knew that unless he could overcome this reserve, his power over the youth was gone. He bent every effort to do it. “What do you say to a turn down the street with me?” he asked as he rose from breakfast. ’Lias shook his head. “What! You haven’t deserted me already?” The older people had gone out, but young Gray looked furtively about before he replied: “You know I ain’t fittin’ to go out with you—aftah—aftah—yestiddy.” A dozen appropriate texts rose in the preacher’s mind, but he knew that it was not a preaching time, so he contented himself with saying,— “Oh, get out! Come along!”