‘You must not think that I do not love Ireland too. I look forward to seeing her free some day, but with the freedom of the Gospel. It will not be in my time, I know, but surely it will come to pass. Our people have still the simple faith of the early ages, and they have many very beautiful virtues. They only want the dawn of the Dayspring from on high to shine on them, and then Ireland will be once more the Island of Saints--_insula sanctorum_.’ He dwelt tenderly on the two words. ‘I do not think it will matter much then what earthly Government bears rule over us. But come, I see that you have finished your smoke, and I must go to my study to think over my sermon.’ When Hyacinth entered the drawing-room the girls surrounded him, asking him for answers to a printed list of questions. It appeared that the committee of a bazaar for some charity in which it was right to be interested had issued a sort of examination-paper, and promised a prize to the best answerer. The questions were all of one kind: ‘What is the Modern Athens--the Eternal City--the City of the Tribes? Who was the Wizard of the North--the Bulwark of the Protestant Faith? The earlier names on the list presented little difficulty to Hyacinth. Marion took down his answers, whilst Elsie murmured a pleasant chorus of astonishment at his cleverness. Suddenly he came to a dead stop. ‘Who was the Martyr of Melanesia?’ ‘I have never heard of him,’ said Hyacinth. ‘Never heard of the Martyr of Melanesia!’ said Elsie. ‘Why, we knew that at once.’ ‘Yes,’ said Marion, ‘there was an article on him in last month’s _Gleaner_. Surely you read the _Gleaner_, Mr. Conneally?’ Hyacinth felt Marion’s eyes fixed on him with something of a reproach in them. He wrestled with a vague recollection of having somewhere heard the name of the periodical. For a moment he thought of risking cross-questioning, and saying that he had only missed the last number. Then he suddenly remembered the card with silver lettering which hung above his coat in the hall, and told the truth with even a quite unnecessary aggravation. ‘No, I never remember seeing a copy of it in my life. I don’t even know what it is about.’ ‘Oh!’ said the girls, round-eyed with horror. ‘Just think! And we all have collecting-boxes.’ ‘It is a missionary periodical,’ said Marion. ‘It has news in it from every corner of the mission-field, and every month a list of the stations that specially need our prayers.’ Hyacinth left the Rectory that night with three well-read numbers of the _Gleaner_ in his pocket.