“I have often thought upon the same subject,” rejoined Rachel.  “But father says it is the fault of the people themselves; they are so greatly opposed to change.”

“That is one of your most excellent father’s worst prejudices.  However, I began by getting up a society, which with us is no easy matter.  All went well at first, and then a president had to be chosen.  Some one suggested myself, a proposition to which all the others agreed, which was quite natural.  I thus became president, and took no little trouble in instructing the people as to what questions were important for them, and what were their requirements.  Then I began to hear a whisper here and there that it was a curious thing that the president of the society had never been properly elected.  I did not take much notice of these whispers, but still I suggested that there should be an election.  The day came, and some one else was chosen in my place.”

“It was Mr. Martens, was it not?” asked Rachel.

“Yes; you are quite right.  I was greatly astonished, and did not attempt to conceal my feelings.  Martens had not attended a single one of our meetings before the afternoon on which he was elected.  I found the whole thing quite incomprehensible.  However, in our state of society, it is not difficult to get to know anything if you only give yourself the trouble to make a few inquiries; and so I soon got a clear knowledge that the person who had got up the whole thing was the dean.  So one day I called upon him.”

“No!  I never heard of that!” cried Rachel.  “What did the dean say?”

“Nothing.  The answer he gave me amounted to nothing.  Not that I wish you to understand that he held his tongue.  On the contrary, he talked incessantly in his best-modulated voice, and was smiling, friendly, in fact, almost appreciative, but not a single word fell from his lips that was really to the point.  Do what I would, I could not get him to discuss a single question, or to give me a reason as to why he had got me turned out of the workman’s society, and put his chaplain in my place.  He denied nothing and confessed nothing, and the end of it was—­there, again, my misfortune—­I got so annoyed to see him leaning back in his chair, with his white hair and everlasting smile, that I got into one of my worst tempers and poured out a regular volley of thunder at him.”

“Well, and the dean—­did he lose his temper?” asked Rachel.

Worse laughed.  “I might just as well have tried to get a spark out of wood, as to get him to lose his temper.  No; the dean was bland as ever, and when I left he shook my hand, and hoped he might soon have the pleasure of seeing me again.  But afterwards I got well paid out for that visit.”

“How was that?” she asked.