"Good evening, Mr. Dole," said both gentlemen, as they approached him. But there was no responsive "Good evening" from Mr. Dole. Now it is always a bad sign when a man will not return such a simple salutation as that: I never knew but one who made me no answer when I wished him "Good evening;" I was at once impressed with the idea that there was little good in him, and my impression was correct, for in a few moments after the fellow had put a light to the thatched house of a poor neighbour who had offended him, and very soon the poor man's house and goods were crackling in a mass of flame. But, it must be confessed, Mr. Dole withheld his salutation from no such motive as influenced this man. There was something far too pleasant and cheerful about a kindly "Good evening" to harmonize in any way with the tone of Mr. Dole's voice or manner; but beyond this, he never said "Good morning" or "Good evening" to any one _on principle_. The fact is, Mr. Dole belonged to a portion of the sect of Anabaptists called "Calvinist Baptists," and the extreme Calvinistic feature of his Creed had become with him quite a monomania. The idea of _predestination_ haunted him every where and in every thing; it ran through his whole life of thought, word, and action; with it he justified all his own shortcomings, and it made him insensible to the right motives and doings of others. He had become so accustomed to look on the dark side of men and things, that he had gained for himself a settled character of gloominess and suspicion, and had quite lost sight of the Apostolic precept--"Be courteous." Thus he did not believe that these two gentlemen meant what they said, and _really wished_ him to have a "Good evening;" and, as regarded himself, he would have considered the words as a flying in the face of Providence, a direful offence against the phantom idol of inevitable Predestination which he had set up in his own heart. To him it seemed only a mockery to use those words of common courtesy, when--as he said to himself--it was already ordained whether these persons should have a good or a bad evening, and no words of his could affect or alter their destiny. And so he simply said, "How do you do, gentlemen?" But it was spoken in a deep, sepulchral voice, as though he reserved to himself a mental protest against even this small conformity to the world's civility. "People are talking about the painting you have been doing in the church, Mr. Ambrose, and I have just come up to look at it; not that I like that sort of thing, and I don't think the parish money should be spent in that way." "You need not be at all anxious on that score, Mr. Dole, as my friend here has defrayed the whole cost of the work; but let us go into the church together."