After I had given my order for dinner we started out on our ramble through Derby-town.

Shortly after we left the inn we divided into couples for the ostensible reason that we did not wish to attract too much attention—­Dorothy and John, Madge and I!  Our real reason for separating was—­but you understand.

Madge’s hand lay like a span of snow upon my arm, and—­but this time I will restrain my tendency to rhapsodize.

We walked out through those parts of the town which were little used, and Madge talked freely and happily.

She fairly babbled, and to me her voice was like the murmurings of the rivers that flowed out of paradise.

We had agreed with John and Dorothy to meet them at the Royal Arms in one hour, and that time had almost passed when Madge and I turned our faces toward the inn.

When we were within a short distance of our hostelry we saw a crowd gathered around a young man who was standing on a box.  He was speaking in a mournful, lugubrious voice and accompanied his words with violent gesticulations.  Out of curiosity we stopped to listen, and learned that religion was our orator’s theme.

I turned to a man standing near me and asked:—­

“Who is the fellow speaking?”

“The pious man is Robert Brown.  He is exhorting in the name of the Lord of Hosts.”

“The pious Robert Brown?” I queried, “exhorting in the name of—­of the Lord of where, did you say?”

“Hosts,” laconically responded my friend, while listening intently to the words of Brown.

“Hosts, say you?  Who is he?” I asked of my interesting neighbor.  “I know him not.”

“Doubtless you know Him not,” responded the man, evidently annoyed at my interruption and my flippancy.

After a moment or two I, desiring to know more concerning the orator, asked:—­

“Robert Brown, say you?”

“Even he,” came the response.  “It will be good for your soul if you but listen to him in a prayerful mood.  He is a young man upon whom the Spirit hath descended plenteously.”

“The Spirit?” I asked.

“Ay,” returned my neighbor.

I could not extract another word from him, so I had the worst of the encounter.

We had been standing there but a short time when the young exhorter descended from his improvised pulpit and passed among the crowd for the purpose of collecting money.  His harangue had appeared ridiculous to me, but Madge seemed interested in his discourse.  She said:—­

“He is very earnest, Malcolm,” and at once my heart went out to the young enthusiast upon the box.  One kind word from Madge, and I was the fellow’s friend for life.  I would have remained his friend had he permitted me that high privilege.  But that he would not do.  When he came to me, I dropped into his hat a small silver piece which shone brightly among a few black copper coins.  My liberal contribution did not induce