One fateful evening the reading was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Kendall. The reverend gentleman had come to make a pastoral call. Albert's hero was in the middle of a situation. The old clergyman insisted upon the continuation of the reading. It was continued and so was the discussion following it; in fact, the discussion seemed likely to go on indefinitely, for the visitor showed no inclination of leaving. At ten-thirty his daughter appeared to inquire about him and to escort him home. Then he went, but under protest. Albert walked to the parsonage with them. “Now we've started somethin',” groaned the captain, as the door closed. “That old critter'll be cruisin' over here six nights out of five from now on to tell Al just how to spin those yarns of his. And he'll talk--and talk--and talk. Ain't it astonishin' how such a feeble-lookin' craft as he is can keep blowin' off steam that way and still be able to navigate.” His wife took him to task. “The idea,” she protested, “of your callin' your own minister a 'critter'! I should think you'd be ashamed. . . . But, oh, dear, I'm afraid he WILL be over here an awful lot.” Her fears were realized. Mr. Kendall, although not on hand “six nights out of five,” as the captain prophesied, was a frequent visitor at the Snow place. As Albert's story-writing progressed the discussions concerning the growth and development of the hero's character became more and more involved and spirited. They were for the most part confined, when the minister was present, to him and Mrs. Snow and Rachel. Laban, if he happened to be there, sat well back in the corner, saying little except when appealed to, and then answering with one of his dry, characteristic observations. Captain Lote, in the rocker, his legs crossed, his hand stroking his beard, and with the twinkle in his eyes, listened, and spoke but seldom. Occasionally, when he and his grandson exchanged glances, the captain winked, indicating appreciation of the situation. “Say, Al,” he said, one evening, after the old clergyman had departed, “it must be kind of restful to have your work all laid out for you this way. Take it to-night, for instance; I don't see but what everything's planned for this young feller you're writin' about so you nor he won't have to think for yourselves for a hundred year or such matter. Course there's some little difference in the plans. Rachel wants him to get wrecked on an island or be put in jail, and Mother, she wants him to be a soldier and a poet, and Mr. Kendall thinks it's high time he joined the church or signed the pledge or stopped swearin' or chewin' gum.” “Zelotes, how ridiculous you do talk!” “All right, Mother, all right. What strikes me, Al, is they don't any of 'em stop to ask you what YOU mean to have him do. Course I know 'tain't any of your business, but still--seems 's if you might be a little mite interested in the boy yourself.”