"Unquestionably. Pray, why not? What I believe is between my Maker and myself. My congregation have nothing to do with it. My belief or non-belief would not injure or improve my sermons. I should in either case preach a good Calvinistic sermon; that is what I qualified myself for. It is my business. If you have been in London you have seen in the great thoroughfares men in scarlet blouses, whose business it is to direct strangers to the places they wish to find. Nobody asks them about their personal religion. If they are good guides to those seeking certain places, they fulfil their duty. I am in just such a position. So are you." "If I thought so, I would leave it at once." "If you had a wife and five children you would put their comfort before your own feelings. That stands to reason. All this talk about the higher criticism is like the sickly talk of the higher civilization; it is anemia in some form or other. Macrae, we have our duty to the Church. We are pledged and sworn to that. It is as much the work given us to do as plowing and sowing are the farmer's work." "But the Truth--the Truth, Doctor!" "What is Truth, Macrae? Who knows? The Truth of yesterday is the error of to-day." "Then, it never was Truth, for Truth is unaffected by time, and remains a witness of the past, the present, and the future." Then the visiting cleric struck the table heavily with his closed hand and, with a fierce intensity, whispered, "O Man! Man! what if all this religion should be a dream!" And Dr. Macrae answered, "Then, where is the Reality?" Both men were silent, but in the eyes of both there was that look which is only seen in the eyes of men who are defrauding their own souls. In a few moments there was the tinkle of a small silver bell, and Dr. Macrae said, "Tea is ready," and they rose together. Passing the parlor they heard Marion trying a new song, and they loitered a moment or two and listened, as very slowly and softly she asked: "What says thy song, thou joyous thrush, Up in the walnut tree?" "I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me." A little sadly they entered the parlor, but the blazing fire threw warm gleams on the handsomely set table; and the tempting odors of young hyson, fresh bread, and a rook pie filled the room. Involuntarily everyone smiled and sat down gladly to the dainty, delicate food before them; and Dr. Macrae said to his friend: "Life is full of emotions. Such a variety of them, too!" "And all good--or, at least, pretty much so. A rook pie! That is a luxury indeed! I suppose there is a rookery at Cramer." "A very ancient and a very large one," answered Dr. Macrae, and he recognized in his own voice and manner that slight sense of proprietorship which flavors a coming good. He was ashamed of it, and made some foolish remark about the rooks being a present. "The birds are not in the market," he said, "and, if they were, a poor minister could not buy them."