"Evidently he did not make a special hit with you," said Zee shrewdly. "Oh, girls, how prying you are. He is very active and enthusiastic. That I was not personally drawn to him is rather my fault than his, no doubt." "We are going to be very nice to him," said Doris. "And Rosalie can take him in hand, so he won't bother you every minute." "Oh, he is married. And I must say his wife is nice enough to make up for--" "Father!" "Excuse me, dear, I mean his wife is--very nice indeed." So the visiting minister came, the Reverend Andrew Boltman, a nervous energetic man with dark eyes, and hair just tinged with gray, and he settled down for a visit in the manse, trying, meanwhile, to effect arrangements for the services, which Mr. Artman still insisted were not desirable at the time. On the second day of his visit, when Mr. Artman announced his intention of going to a lecture at the college, Mr. Boltman said he preferred to stay quietly at home and read if he might be excused, and his host went away alone, seeming almost relieved to be free to follow his own desires for the afternoon. Doris went serenely about her housework, and Mr. Boltman picked out a comfortable corner in the living-room with his book. But late in the afternoon, when her father returned, he found Doris alone at the window, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor. "Where is Mr. Boltman?" "Gone down-town. Something is wrong with Rosalie. She is up-stairs, crying. It must be pretty bad, for she would not tell me about it." So Mr. Artman went up-stairs to Rosalie, slowly but without delay, feeling that vague helplessness that comes to men when there is trouble in the family. She was lying face down on the bed, rigid, her hands clenched tightly, but her shoulders rose and fell with heavy sobs. Something in her attitude told him that this was vital, not just a little tempestuous outburst that could be readily brushed aside. He sat down close by her on the bed, and laid his arm across her shoulders tenderly. "Rosalie," he whispered, and as she flung herself upon him he caught a glimpse of a white face and stormy eyes, quickly hidden from his searching gaze. Very gently he caressed her, asking no question, patting and fondling her as he would have done to a little hurt or frightened child. And then when the sobs came more easily, she stood up away from him suddenly and looked straight into his face, and her eyes were hard. "I do not intend to be a Christian any more--not ever any more. It is all over. I hate them. I think they are horrible. Christianity is nothing--it is a cheat--and ministers are the worst of all." "Rosalie, my little girl, have I--done something?" he cried in a startled voice, for this was new even to him, who had coped with the moods of daughters for many years.