Of course Jim could not mention the matter, and Clinton did not choose to do so, and so he stayed on. Sometimes--not very often--Doctor Conway would join the little circle in front of the kitchen fire: but these evenings were not very enjoyable to him. Clinton rather monopolized the conversation--and monopolized Norine also, Conway thought; so he only dropped in once in a while, and joined in the game of cards, or the discussion that happened to be in progress. He had just come in one evening, and found the young people discussing a visit they had received from the pastor of the little church. “He is a good, kind-hearted man,” Jim was saying, “and does a great deal for the poor people of the neighborhood, though he has very little to do it with. I like him very much.” “He seems to be kind enough,” replied Clinton, carelessly; “but he hardly impresses me with his ability as a teacher. Besides, he talks ‘shop’ too much.” “That is his mission,” interposed Norine. “Less his mission than his profession, perhaps,” replied Clinton in that careless, almost sneering tone. “After all, it is only another way of making a living.” “I doubt that,” said Jim warmly. “I do not believe as he does, but I think that he is undoubtedly sincere. Besides that, Carlton is a very clever fellow in his way, and very poorly paid. I feel sure that if it were only a question of money he could do better in other ways.” “He is certainly not very original,” sneered Clinton, repressing a yawn. “I have heard those same expressions of faith before.” “They may be none the less sincere for that,” replied Jim sternly. “I hold that sincere faith is always worthy of respect.” “Oh, certainly,” said Clinton, not at all abashed. “You must pardon my criticism. I did not know that you were such an earnest believer.” Conway laughed. Jim was not considered a very earnest believer by his neighbors. “That is the first time I ever heard you complimented in that way, Jim.” “I do not deserve the compliment,” replied Jim soberly. “Not but that I am sincere in my belief.” “What is that?” inquired Clinton, with an appearance of interest. “Oh, Jim is what you might call a believer in nature,” interposed Norine. “Just as you believe in fate, and Doctor Conway in--I don’t know what.” “Say in you, for instance,” said Conway quietly. Norine blushed a little. “We are talking of religious matters now, sir,” she pouted. “I doubt if any of us would pass as orthodox,” said Clinton, paying no attention to this little by-play. “As for me, I am in doubt. I am something of a fatalist, as Miss Norine has said. And yet at times I am undecided in my mind, and inclined to believe that we are all the result of chance.” “Would you trust your hereafter to chance?” inquired Jim quietly. “I am hardly sure that I believe in a life after this,” replied the young man. “I have never seen any proof of it. Have you?” he inquired in his turn.