His speculations were abruptly cut short by Mandy, who bustled out of the door with a wide smile of welcome on her black face, and an unmistakable ambition to take him immediately under her motherly wing. She was much concerned because the church people had not met the new pastor at the station and brought him to the house. Upon learning that Douglas had purposely avoided their escort, preferring to come to his new home the first time alone, she made up her mind that she was going to like him. Mandy had long been a fixture in the parsonage. She and her worse half, Hasty Jones, had come to know and discuss the weaknesses of the many clergymen who had come and gone, the deacons, and the congregation, both individually and collectively. She confided to Hasty, that she “didn't blame de new parson fer not wantin' to mix up wid dat ar crowd.” In the study that night, when she and Hasty helped Douglas to unpack his many boxes of books, they were as eager as children about the drawings and pictures which he showed them. His mind had gone beyond the parsonage front now, and he described to them the advantage of adding an extra ten feet to the church spire. Mandy felt herself almost an artist when she and Hasty bade the pastor good night, for she was still quivering from the contagion of Douglas's enthusiasm. Here, at last, was a master who could do something besides find fault with her. “I jest wan' to be on de groun' de firs' time dat Mars Douglas and dat ere Deacon Strong clinches,” she said to Hasty as they locked the doors and turned out the hall light. “Did yuh done see his jaw?” she whispered. “He look laughin' enough NOW, but jes' yuh wait till he done set dat'ere jaw a his'n and afar ain't nobody what's goin' ter unsot it.” “Maybe dar ain't goin' ter be no clinchin',” said Hasty, hoping for Mandy's assurance to the contrary. “What?” shrieked Mandy. “Wid dat 'ere sneakin' Widow Willoughby already a-tellin' de deacons how to start de new parson a-goin' proper?” “Now, why you's always a-pickin' onto dat 'ere widow?” asked Hasty, already enjoying the explosion which he knew his defence of the widow was sure to excite. “I don' like no woman what's allus braggin' 'bout her clean floors,” answered Mandy, shortly. She turned out the last light, and tiptoed upstairs, trying not to disturb the pastor. John Douglas was busy already with pencil and paper, making notes of the plans for the church and parsonage, which he would perfect later on. Alas, for Douglas's day dreams! It was not many weeks before he understood with a heavy heart that the deacons were far too dull and uninspired to share his faith in beauty as an aid to man's spiritual uplift. “We think we've done pretty well by this church,” said Deacon Strong, who was the business head, the political boss, and the moral mentor of the small town's affairs. “Just you worry along with the preachin', young man, and we'll attend to the buyin' and buildin' operations.”