“Yes, I am,” replied the other, fixing him with a penetrating glance. “And you, sir?” “May I introduce myself? I have just called at your house, and, unluckily, failed to find you at home. I am Mr. Lindo.” “Oh, the new rector!” said Mr. Bonamy, putting out a cold hand, while the chill glitter of his eye lost none of its steeliness. “Yes, and I am glad to have intercepted you,” Lindo continued, with a little color in his cheek, and speaking quickly under the influence of his late enthusiasm, which as yet was proof against the lawyer’s reserve. “For I have been extremely anxious to make your acquaintance, and, indeed, to say something particular to you, Mr. Bonamy.” The elder man bowed to hide a smile. “As church warden, I presume?” he said smoothly. “Yes, and—and generally. I am quite aware, Mr. Bonamy,” continued the rash young man in a fervor of frankness, “that you were not disposed to look upon my appointment—the appointment of a complete stranger, I mean—with favor.” “May I ask who told you that?” said Bonamy abruptly. The young clergyman colored. “Well, I—perhaps you will excuse me saying how I learned it,” he answered, beginning to see that he would have done better to be more reticent. There is no mistake which youth more often makes than that of arousing sleeping dogs, and trying to explain things which a wiser man would pass over in silence. Mr. Bonamy had his own reasons for regarding the parson with suspicion, and had no mind to be addressed in the indulgent vein. Nor was he propitiated when Lindo added, “I learned your feeling, if I may say so, by an accident.” “Then I think you should have kept knowledge so gained to yourself!” the lawyer retorted. The rector started and turned crimson under the reproof. His dignity was new and tender, and the other’s tone was offensive in the last degree. Yet the young man tried to control himself, and for the moment succeeded. “Possibly,” he said, with some stiffness. “My only motive in mentioning the latter, however, was this, that I hope in a short time, by appealing to you for your hearty co-operation, to overcome any prejudices you may have entertained.” “My prejudices are rather strong,” the lawyer answered grimly. “You are quite at liberty to try, however, Mr. Lindo. But I may as well warn you of one thing now, as frankness seems to be in fashion. I have just been told that you are meditating considerable changes in our church here. Now, I must tell you this, that I object to anything new—anything new, and not only to new incumbents!” with a smile which somewhat softened his last words. “But who informed you,” cried the rector in angry surprise, “that I meditated changes, Mr. Bonamy?” “Ah!” the lawyer answered in his dryest and thinnest voice. “That is just what I cannot tell you. Let us say that I learned it—by accident, Mr. Lindo!” And his sharp eyes twinkled. “It is not true, however!” the rector exclaimed. “Is it not? Well,” with a slight cough, “I am glad to hear it!”