“There he is,” said the latter, as the bell rang.

The housekeeper went to the side-door, and drawing back the bolt admitted the gentleman whose preaching had done so much for the small but select sect known as the Seventh Day Primitive Apostles.  She came back into the room followed by a tall stout man, whose upper lip and short stubby beard streaked with grey seemed a poor match for the beady eyes which lurked behind a pair of clumsy spectacles.

“Brother Samuel Burge?” inquired the jeweller, rising.

The visitor nodded, and regarding him with a smile charged with fraternal love, took his hand in a huge grip and shook it fervently.

“I am glad to see you, Brother Higgs,” he said, regarding him fondly.  “Oh, ’ow my eyes have yearned to be set upon you!  Oh, ’ow my ears ’ave longed to hearken unto the words of your voice!”

He breathed thickly, and taking a seat sat with his hands upon his knees, looking at a fine piece of cold beef which the housekeeper had just placed upon the table.

“Is Brother Clark well?” inquired the jeweller, placing a chair for him at the table and taking up his carving-knife.

“Dear Brother Clark is in excellent ’ealth, I thank you,” said the other, taking the proffered chair.  “Oh! what a man he is; what a instrument for good.  Always stretching out them blessed hands of ’is to make one of the fallen a Seventh Day Primitive.”

“And success attends his efforts?” said the jeweller.

“Success, Brother!” repeated Mr. Burge, eating rapidly and gesticulating with his knife.  “Success ain’t no name for it.  Why, since this day last week he has saved three pick-pockets, two Salvationists, one bigamist and a Roman Catholic.”

Brother Higgs murmured his admiration.  “You are also a power for good,” he said wistfully.  “Brother Clark tells me in his letter that your exhortations have been abundantly blessed.”

Mr. Burge shook his head.  “A lot of it falls by the wayside,” he said modestly, “but some of it is an eye-opener to them as don’t entirely shut their ears.  Only the day before yesterday I ’ad two jemmies and a dark lantern sent me with a letter saying as ’ow the owner had no further use for ’em.”

The jeweller’s eyes glistened with admiration not quite untinged with envy.  “Have you expounded the Word for long?” he inquired.

“Six months,” replied the other.  “It come to me quite natural—­I was on the penitent bench on the Saturday, and the Wednesday afterwards I preached as good a sermon as ever I’ve preached in my life.  Brother Clark said it took ’is breath away.”

“And he’s a judge too,” said the admiring jeweller.

“Now,” continued Brother Burge, helping himself plentifully to pickled walnuts.  “Now there ain’t standing room in our Bethel when I’m expounding.  People come to hear me from all parts—­old and young—­rich and poor—­and the Apostles that don’t come early ’ave to stand outside and catch the crumbs I throw ’em through the winders.”