“To try to get him to see how wicked these things are.” The other was staring at him with wide-open, startled eyes. “Do you mean,” she cried, “that you want to go to my father and talk to him about what he's doing in politics?” “Why, yes, Miss Gladys--what else can I do?” And Miss Gladys took out her handkerchief, and leaned down upon the table, hiding her face. She was overcome with some emotion, the nature of which was not apparent. The boy was naturally alarmed. “Miss Gladys!” he cried. “You aren't angry with me?” She answered, in a muffled voice, “No, Samuel--no!” Then she looked up, her face somewhat red. “Go and see him, Samuel!” she said. “You don't mind?” he cried anxiously. “No, not in the least,” she said. “Go right ahead and see what you can do. He's a very bad, worldly man; and if you can soften his heart, it will be the best thing for all of us.” “And it won't make any difference in our relationship?” he asked. “In our relationship?” she repeated; and then, “Not in the least. But mind, of course, don't say anything about that to him. Don't give him any idea that you know me!” “Of course not, Miss Gladys.” “Tell him that you come from the church. And give it to him good and hard, Samuel--for I'm sure he's done everything you told me, and lots that is worse.” “Miss Gladys!” gasped the other. “And mind, Samuel!” she added. “Come and tell me about it afterwards. Perhaps I can advise you what to do next.” There was a pause, while the two looked at each other. And then in a sudden burst of emotion Miss Gladys exclaimed, “Oh, Samuel, you are an angel!” And she broke into a peal of laughter; and swiftly, like a bird upon the wing, she leaned toward him, and touched his cheek with her lips. And then, like a flash, she was gone; and Samuel was left alone with his bewilderment. Samuel set out forthwith for Mr. Wygant's office. But just before he came to the bridge Mr. Wygant's automobile flashed past him; and so he turned and went back to the house. This time he went to the front door. “I am Samuel Prescott, from St. Matthew's Church,” he said to the butler. “And I want to see Mr. Wygant upon important business.” Mr. Wygant sat in a great armchair by one of the windows in his library. About him was the most elaborate collection of books that Samuel had yet seen; and in the luxurious room was an atmosphere of profound and age-long calm. Mr. Wygant himself was tall and stately, with an indescribable air of exclusiveness and reserve. Samuel clenched his hands and rushed at once to the attack. “I am Samuel Prescott, the sexton's boy at the church,” he said; “and I have to talk to you about something very, VERY serious.” “Well?” said Mr. Wygant.