Now I myself am a school-master, versed in the lore of certain books ancient and modern, but knowing very little about such a practical matter as applied theology; nor did I know very much then concerning the classification of Christians among themselves:  but I think that I am not wrong in saying that this young man belonged to that movement in the Anglican Church which fights strongly for a visible unity and for Church tradition.  I am so made that I always tend to agree with the man who is speaking, so my companion was encouraged by my sympathy.

He went on:  “I can do with a man that is out-and-out anything.  I can work with a Papist; I can work with a Methodist, as far as I can conscientiously meet him on common ground, and I can respect him if he conscientiously holds that he is right and I am wrong:  but these fellows that are neither one thing nor the other—­they are as dangerous as rocks and shoals that are just hidden under the water.  You never know when you have them.”

We were upon the broad wooden side-walk of an avenue leading from the central street of the town to a region of outstanding gardens and pleasure-grounds, in which the wooden villas of the citizens stood among luxuriant trees.  It is a characteristic of Fentown that the old trees about the place have been left standing.

A new companion came to my side, and he, as fate would have it, was another clergyman.  He was an older man, with a genial, bearded face.  I think he belonged to that party which takes its name from the Evangel of whose purity it professes itself the guardian.

“You are going to this entertainment which Mr. and Mrs. Toyner are giving?” The cordiality of his common-place remark had a certain restraint in it.

“You are going also?”

“No; it is not a house at which I visit.  I have lived here for twenty-five years, and of course I have known Mr. Toyner more or less all that time.  I do not know how I shall be able to work on the same Council with him; but we shall see.  We, who believe in the truth of religion, must hold our own if we can.”

I was to be the master of the new schools.  I pleased him with my assent.

“I am rather sorry,” he continued, “to tell the truth, that you should begin your social life in Fentown by visiting Mr. Toyner; but of course this afternoon it is merely a public reception, and after a time you will be able to judge for yourself.  I do not hesitate to say that I consider his influence, especially with the young people, of a most dangerous kind.  For a long time, you know, he and his wife were quite ostracised—­not so much because of their low origin as because of their religious opinions.  But of late years even good Christians appear disposed to be friendly with them.  Money, you know—­money carries all things before it.”

“Yes, that is too often the case.”