“Joliffe,” said the vicar, taking a long and impressive pull at his cigar, “what I really want to talk to you about is that fellow John Smith. I am sorry to say I’ve come to the conclusion that he can no longer be allowed to stay in the parish.” “Indeed,” said the doctor casually. “A harmless sort of creature I’ve always thought. Doesn’t quite know himself perhaps. A little too free with his opinions may be, but strictly between ourselves”--Dr. Joliffe’s voice grew respectfully confidential--“I think we may lay that to the door of someone else.” “Brandon, eh? I agree.” The vicar grew magisterial. “Always an injudicious fellow. That’s the worst of your radical. Gives these intermediate sort of people ideas.” “Quite so. I wish you’d try the brandy.” The host pushed it across. “No. Really. War time, you know.” “I should value your opinion. Just half a glass.” “Well, half a glass. To return to John Smith. Excellent brandy. My girl, Edith, presented this fellow Smith with a white feather this morning. Of course he’s a poor half-begotten sort of creature, but as far as one can see there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be working at munitions instead of loafing about the common.” “Exactly. Sure you won’t have a _leetle_ more?” “Quite. Well, if you please, he kissed the feather, stuck it in his buttonhole, and said, ‘And lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him.’” The doctor shook a grave, gray head. “Sounds decidedly cracked, I must say. At any rate a most improper speech to make to a clergyman’s daughter.” “I should think so! Outrageous blasphemy!” “Do you suppose the chap meant to insult her?” “If he didn’t, and it’s charitable to give him the benefit of the doubt, his behavior only admits of one other explanation.” Dr. Joliffe sat, a picture of perplexity. To a severely literal mind the speech was meaningless. He had known for some time that the man claimed to see visions, that he was a poet and a dreamer; and the doctor had lately heard rumors, to which he had paid little attention, that the man was dabbling in Christian Science in neighboring villages; but this was the first time it had occurred to him that the fellow was insane. But now the doctor agreed with the vicar that such behavior strongly suggested that condition. “Mind you, that is not all.” And the vicar gave an account of his own visit to the common, his conversation with the man, his subsequent visit to the mother and the remarkable statement she had made to him. “She has always been very religious,” said the doctor, “but up till now I have not questioned her sanity.” “Nor I,” said the vicar. “But she is not important. She is practically bed-ridden. It is this son of hers we have to think about. I have already made up my mind that he must go. And that being the case, the problem arises as to what is the best means of getting rid of him.”