"Without it I'm lost. Then along comes this very worst evil," he gazed towards the camp on the slope, "and here it is, callin' me in the name o' my Country, tauntin', askin' me why I can't make up my mind to be a man!" Seth checked a groan. "You see," he went on, "we looks at it, sir, in different ways, but they both hurt. I be main sorry if my own trouble o' mind adds any weight to your'n. But th' Bible says that, though one man's burden be 'most as heavy as another's, the pair may halve the whole load by sharin' it--or that's as I read the tex'." Young Obed ground his teeth. "Maybe you haven't to endure _this_ sort o' thing!" On a fierce impulse he pulled an envelope from his pocket, seemed to repent, then hardened his courage, and slowly drew forth--three white feathers, "It came to me this morning, anonymous." His face was crimson. "Maybe I have," answered Seth tranquilly, and produced an envelope containing three feathers precisely similar. "But what signifies a dirty trick o' that sort? It only tells what be in some other unfort'nate person's mind. It don't affect what's in my own," "Hullo!" hailed a voice behind them. "Comparin' love-letters, you young men?" The speaker was Nicky-Nan, come to survey the desolation of his 'taty-patch. Young Obed hastily crammed his envelope into his pocket. But Seth Minards turned about with a frank smile. "You may see mine, Mr Nanjivell. Look what some kind friend sent me this mornin'!" "Well, I s'wow!" exclaimed Nicky-Nan, after a silence of astonishment. "If _I_ didn' get such another Prince o' Wales's plume, an' this very mornin' too!" "You?" cried the two young men together. "See here"--Nicky in his turn pulled forth an envelope. "But what do it signify at all? 'Tis all a heathen mystery to me." "Well, and how are we getting along?" asked the Vicar two days later, as he entered the morning-room where his wife sat busily addressing circulars and notices of sub-committee meetings. She looked up, with a small pucker on her forehead. "I suppose it is drudgery; but do you know, Robert," she confessed, "I really believe I could get to like this sort of thing in time?" He laughed, a trifle wistfully. "And do you know, Agatha, why it is that clergymen and their wives so seldom trouble the Divorce Court-- in comparison, we'll say, with soldiers and soldiers' wives? . . . No, you are going to answer wrong. It isn't because the parsons are better men--for I don't believe they are." "Then it seems to follow that their wives must be better women!"