The vicar took off his hat to cool his head a little, and then swung boldly across the turf. The young man, who was bareheaded and clad in common workaday clothes, looked clean and neat enough, but somehow strangely slight and frail. Gaunt of jaw and sunken-eyed, the face was of a very unusual kind, and from time to time was lit by a smile so vivid as to be unforgetable. But the outward aspect of John Smith had never had anything to say to the vicar, and this morning it had even less to say than usual. For the vicar’s attention had been caught by something else. Upon the young man’s finger was perched a little, timid bird. He was cooing to it, in an odd, loving voice, and as the vicar came up he said: “Nay, nay, don’t go. This good man will do you no harm.” But the bird appeared to feel otherwise. By the time the vicar was within ten yards it had flown away. “Even the strong souls fear you, sir,” said the young man with his swift smile, looking him frankly in the eyes. “It is the first time one has heard such a grandiloquent term applied to a yellow-hammer,” said the vicar coldly. “Things are not always what they seem,” said the young man. “The wisdom of countless ages is in that frail casket.” “Don’t talk nonsense,” said the vicar sharply. “Many a saint, many a hero, is borne on the wings of a dove.” “Transcendental rubbish.” The vicar mopped his face with his handkerchief, and then he began: “Smith”--he was too angry to use the man’s Christian name--“my daughter tells me you have been blasphemous.” The young man, who still wore the white feather in his coat, looked at the angry vicar with an air of gentle surprise. “Please don’t deny it,” said the vicar, taking silence for a desire to rebut the charge. “She has repeated to me word for word your mocking speech when you put that symbol of cowardice in your buttonhole.” John Smith looked at the vicar with his deep eyes and then he said slowly and softly: “If my words have hurt her I am very sorry.” This speech, in spite of its curious gentleness, added fuel to the vicar’s anger. “The humility you affect does not lessen their offense,” he said sharply. “Where lies the offense you speak of?” The question was asked simply, with a grave smile. “If it is not clear to you,” said the vicar with acid dignity, “it shall not be my part to explain it. I am not here to bandy words. Nor do I intend to chop logic. You consider yourself vastly clever, no doubt. But I have to warn you that the path you follow is full of peril.” “Yes, the path we are following is full of peril.” “Whom do you mean by ‘we’?” said the vicar sternly. “Mankind. All of us.” “That does not affect the question. Let us leave the general alone, let us keep to the particular.” “But how can we leave the general alone, how can we keep to the particular, when we are all members of one another?” The vicar checked him with an imperious hand.