"Can it be possible that this is you, Mr. Maxwell?" he almost whispered, at last. "It is, to the best of my knowledge and belief." "What in the name of heaven are you working with these men for, if I may ask?" "To earn sufficient money to pay my grocer's bill." Bascom colored hotly, and sputtered: "I consider it a shame and a disgrace to the parish to have our rector in filthy clothes, drawing stone with a lot of ruffians." Maxwell colored as hotly, and replied: "They are not ruffians, sir; they are honest men, supporting their families in a perfectly legitimate way, giving their labor and"--significantly--"receiving their pay for it." "And you, sir, are engaged to work for the parish, as a minister of God." "Unfortunately, I am not being paid by the parish; that is why I am working here. Neither my wife nor myself is going to starve." "You haven't any pride, sir!" Bascom fumed, his temper out of control. "We have had many incompetent rectors, but this really surpasses anything. We have never had anyone like you." Maxwell paused again in his work, and, leaning on his shovel, looked Bascom in the eye: "By which you mean that you have never had anyone who was independent enough to grip the situation in both hands and do exactly what he thought best, independent of your dictation." "I will not converse with you any more. You are insulting." "As the corporation is paying me for my time, I prefer work to conversation." Bascom strode along the road towards his home. Danny Dolan, who had been a shameless auditor of this conversation, from the other side of the wagon, was beside himself with delight: "Holy Moses! but didn't you give it to the old man. And here be all your adorers from town after comin' to tea at the house, and you lookin' like the stoker of an engine with black grease half an inch thick on your cheek." Maxwell pulled out his handkerchief, and made an abortive effort to get his face clean. "How is it now, Danny?" "Oh, it 'aint nearly as thick in any one place; it's mostly all over your face now." Then Danny laughed irreverently again. "Sure, an' you certainly do look like the real thing now." Maxwell was raking gravel when the guests for the afternoon tea were passing; and though he did not look up, he fully realized that they had recognized him, from the buzz of talk and the turning of heads. Danny returned from his safer distance when he saw the coast was clear. Maxwell had a shrewd suspicion that the boy had taken himself off believing it might embarrass Maxwell less if any of the ladies should speak to him. "Did none of 'em know you, then?" he asked. "Not one of them spoke; I guess my disguise is pretty complete."