"I'm so b-b-busy I don't know what to do. Preaching nearly every Sunday, and lectures. I've got to l-lecture to Anglicans on M-Mysticism in t-town on Monday. Oh, I say, they are coming in. Two conversions last week, both c-clergymen and such good fellows. And it's such fun here. There's heaps to do yet. You shall see to-morrow." "Yes?" He nodded, wrapping his hands in his cloak and laughing merrily. "Of course, when I came I built a chapel. It's an old barn, much older than the house, thirteenth century they say. It must have been a chapel before, I think; it feels like it. Well, all the village talked, of course. P-Popish treason and p-plot! Bridget told me, and Tim; all the servants are Catholic you know. But I wouldn't let anyone see it, for I'm not here regularly enough to start a new church like that. Perhaps we'll have another priest one day, and a Mission. Of course, if they enquire, that's another story. So, last week when several of them came to Tim and got him to ask me to have a service on Sunday evening, I did. It was full; p-packed. The Wesleyan local preacher came too. We had B-Benediction. Oh, you ought to have been here, my dear. They all sang 'Star of the Sea' b-b-beautifully!" It was so like Father Vassall, Paul thought. He was as eager as a boy, and the Faith was a glorious kind of adventure with him. There was no checking his enthusiasm. In his company Paul always felt as if he were living in the times of the Apostles when Christians were a little persecuted, defiant, daring band, but the Cross and the Resurrection things of but yesterday. And although he always had a sense that the world of thought and action in which the priest lived was utterly remote from the world of the average man, still he had come to see that there was nothing of the poseur in his friend. He did not pose as a mediævalist; he simply was one. And he did not adapt his religion to the world; he adapted his world to his religion. It was on that platform that the two met so readily. Paul was utterly accustomed to that point of view. Only at Claxted there was a different religion. So now, at once, the little priest shot his swift question quite simply. "And how is it with you?" he asked. "Have you decided to l-l-let yourself g-go?" Not so differently does a Salvationist ask a sinner at the penitent form if he is saved. Paul moved uneasily. "Don't, Father," he said; "don't ask me that yet. I can't say. I'm pulled all ways. Whenever I sit down to think, a great tangle grows and weaves in my mind till I'm in despair at ever deciding anything." Father Vassall nodded. "I know," he said. "So it was with me. You're on the r-rack. Every n-nerve gives you pain. You've thought enough. You know enough really. If you went on reading and talking and arguing till d-d-doomsday, you'd get no c-clearer. You must turn simply to our Lord and do His W-Will." "If I knew it!"