"Well," she replied, "I don't know as we have much climate to speak of. We have just a job lot of weather, and we take it regular--once after each meal, once before goin' to bed, and repeat if necessary before mornin'. I won't say but it's pretty good medicine, at that. There'd be no show for the doctor, if it wasn't fashionable to invite him in at the beginnin' and the end of things." Jonathan, who up to this time had been silent, felt it incumbent to break into the conversation a bit, and interposed: "I suppose you've never been up in these parts before?" "No," Maxwell responded; "but I've always intended to come up during the season for a little hunting some time. Was there much sport last year?" "Well, I can't say as there was, and I can't say _as_ there wasn't. The most I recollect was that two city fellers shot a guide and another feller. But then it was a poor season last fall, anyway." Maxwell gave the Junior Warden a quick look, but there was not a trace of a smile on his face, and Hepsey chuckled. Keeping her eyes on the horses as they trotted along at a smart pace over a road none too smooth for comfortable riding, she remarked casually: "I suppose the Bishop told you what we wanted in the shape of a parson, didn't he?" "Well, he hinted a few things." "Yes; we're awful modest, like most country parishes that don't pay their rector more than enough to get his collars laundered. We want a man who can preach like the Archbishop of Canterbury, and call on everybody twice a week, and know just when anyone is sick without bein' told a word about it. He's got to be an awful good mixer, to draw the young people like a porous plaster, and fill the pews. He must have lots of sociables, and fairs, and things to take the place of religion; and he must dress well, and live like a gentleman on the salary of a book-agent. But if he brings city ways along with him and makes us feel like hayseeds, he won't be popular." "That's a rather large contract!" Maxwell replied with a smile. "Yes, but think what we're goin' to pay you: six hundred dollars a year, and you'll have to raise most of it yourself, just for the fun of it." At this point the Junior Warden interrupted: "Now, Hepsey, what's the use of upsettin' the young man at the start. He's----" "Never mind, Jonathan. I'm tellin' the truth, anyway. You see," she continued, "most people think piety's at a low ebb unless we're gettin' up some kind of a holy show all the time, to bring people together that wouldn't meet anywhere else if they saw each other first. Then when they've bought a chance on a pieced bed-quilt, or paid for chicken-pie at a church supper, they go home feelin' real religious, believin' that if there's any obligation between them and heaven, it isn't on their side, anyway. Do you think you're goin' to fill the bill, Mr. Maxwell?"