"By Jove!" he said, "I thought there was but one other Dr. Lloyd in the world, and that was Father James----," mentioning the name of my morning visitor. It was the first chink I had seen in the armor of my young Goliath, and I put in my rapier. "You are not very busy?" I said. "No, Father," he replied, surprised. "Would you have time to listen to a little story?" "Certainly," he said, settling back in his chair, his head on his hands. "Well," I said slowly, "in the first years of my mission I had a fellow curate, a good many years younger than myself. I consequently looked down on him, especially as he was slightly pompous in his manner and too much addicted to Latin and French quotations. In fact, he looked quite a hollow fellow, and apparently a selfish and self-contented one. I changed my opinion later on. He was particularly fond of horses, though he never rode. He was a kind of specialist in horseflesh. His opinion was regarded as infallible. He never kept any but the highest breed of animal. He had a particularly handsome little mare, which he called 'Winnie,' because he thought he saw in her some intelligence, like what he read of in the famous mare of a famous Robin Hood. She knew him, and followed him like a dog. He allowed no one to feed her, or even to groom her, but himself. He never touched her with a whip. He simply spoke to her, or whistled, and she did all he desired. He had refused one hundred and fifty pounds for her at a southern fair a few days before the occurrence which I am about to relate. One day he had been at conference, or rather we were both there, for he drove me to the conference and back. It was thirteen miles going and the same returning. The little mare came back somewhat fagged. He was no light-weight, nor was I. "'I shall not drive her there again,' he said; 'I'll get an old hack for these journeys.' "Before he sat down to dinner he fed and groomed her, and threw her rug over her for the night. She whinnied with pleasure at reaching her own stable. Just as he sat down to dinner a sick-call was announced. It was declared 'urgent.' After a while you won't be too much alarmed at these 'urgent' calls, for they generally mean but little; but on this occasion a short note was put into the priest's hand. It was from the doctor. It ran: 'Come as quickly as possible. It is a most critical case.' "There was no choice there. "'Have you brought a horse?' the priest cried. "'No, your reverence,' said the messenger. 'I crossed down the mountain by the goat-path. There was no time.' "The priest went straight to the stable and unlocked it. The mare whinnied, for she knew his footstep. He flashed the light upon her as she turned her big eyes towards him. "'Come, little woman,' he said, 'we must be on the road again.' "She understood him, and moaned.