Already he had parted with a considerable number of his books to eke out, and meet the many calls upon him--urgent and insistent calls. It became abundantly clear, as his mind strayed from the manuscript before him and turned to their immediate situation, that he was already forced to choose between two alternatives: either he must give up, and own himself and all the better influences in the place beaten by Bascom and his satellites; or he must find some means of augmenting his means of living, without allowing his time and energy to be monopolized to the neglect of essential parish and church duties. As he thought on these things, somehow his enthusiasm for foreign missions ebbed away, and left him desperately tired and worried. He made several abortive attempts to put some fire into his missionary plea, but it was useless; and he was about to give up when he heard Mrs. Betty's gentle voice inquiring from the next room: "May I come in? Haven't you finished that wretched old missionary sermon yet?" "No, dear; but why aren't you asleep?" "I have been anxious about you. You are worn out and you need your rest. Now just let the heathen rage, and go to bed." Maxwell made no reply, but picked at his manuscript aimlessly with his pen. Betty looked into his face, and then the whole stress of the situation pierced her; and sitting down by his side she dropped her head on his shoulder and with one arm around his neck stroked his cheek with her fingers. For a few moments neither of them spoke; and then Maxwell said quietly: "Betty, love, I am going to work." "But Donny, you are one of the hardest working men in this town. What do you mean?" "Oh, I mean that I am going to find secular work, the work of a day laborer, if necessary. Matters have come to a crisis, and I simply cannot stand this sort of thing any longer. If I were alone I might get along; but I have you, sweetheart, and----" Maxwell stopped suddenly, and the brave little woman at his side said: "Yes, I know all about it, Donald, and I think you are fully justified in doing anything you think best." "And you wouldn't feel ashamed of me if I handled a shovel or dug in the street?" "I'd be the proudest woman in the town, Donny; you are just your fine dear self, whatever you do; and if you have the courage to put your pride in your pocket and work in overalls, that would make you all the finer to me. Manual work would relieve the tension of your nerves. You seem to be in fairly good physical condition. Don't you worry one bit about me. I am going to wash some lace curtains for Mrs. Roscoe-Jones, and that will keep me out of mischief. Now, if you will allow me, I am going to tear up that sermon on foreign missions, and start a little home mission of my own by sending you to bed."