“I try to help my people to get on better terms with themselves and to forget their week-day troubles.” He had never had occasion to define his efforts so minutely. “Well, that's jes' the same as us,” Polly told him with an air of condescension; “only circuses draws more people 'an churches.” “YOURS does seem to be a more popular form of entertainment,” Douglas answered drily. He was beginning to feel that there were many tricks in the entertainment trade which he had not mastered. And, after all, what was his preaching but an effort at entertainment? If he failed to hold his congregation by what he was saying, his listeners grew drowsy, and his sermon fell short of its desired effect. It was true that his position and hers had points of similarity. She was apparently successful; as for himself, he could not be sure. He knew he tried very hard and that sometimes a tired mother or a sad-faced child looked up at him with a smile that made the service seem worth while. Polly mistook the pastor's revery for envy, and her tender heart was quick to find consolation for him. “You ain't got all the worst of it,” she said. “If we tried to play a dump like this for six months, we'd starve to death. You certainly must give 'em a great show,” she added, surveying him with growing interest. “It doesn't make much difference about the show--” Douglas began, but he was quickly interrupted. “That's right, it's jes' the same with a circus. One year ye give 'em the rottenest kind of a thing, and they eat it up; the next year you hand 'em a knock-out, and it's a frost. Is that the way it is with a church show?” “Much the same,” Douglas admitted half-amusedly, half-regretfully. “Very often when I work the hardest, I seem to do the least good.” “I guess our troubles is pretty much alike.” Polly nodded with a motherly air of condescension. “Only there ain't so much danger in your act.” “I'm not so sure about that,” he laughed.