“No; I did not ask them.”

“You ought to.”

“What!  Do you believe my people ought literally to leave their possessions and live among the people?”

Philip could not help asking the question, and all the time he was conscious of a strange absurdity mingled with an unaccountable respect for his visitor, and his opinion.

“Yes,” came the reply, with the calmness of light.  “Christ would demand it if he were pastor of Calvary Church in this age.  The church members, the Christians in this century, must renounce all that they have, or they cannot be his disciples.”

Philip sat profoundly silent.  The words spoken so quietly by this creature tossed upon his own soul like a vessel in a tempest.  He dared not say anything for a moment.  The Brother Man looked over and said at last:  “What have you been preaching about since you came here?”

“A great many things.”

“What are some of the things you have preached about?”

“Well,” Philip clasped his hands over his knees; “I have preached about the right and wrong uses of property, the evil of the saloon, the Sunday as a day of rest and worship, the necessity of moving our church building down into this neighborhood, the need of living on a simpler basis, and, lastly, the true work of a church in these days.”

“Has your church done what you have wished?”

“No,” replied Philip, with a sigh.

“Will it do what you preach ought to be done?”

“I do not know.”

“Why don’t you resign?”

The question came with perfect simplicity, but it smote Philip almost like a blow.  It was spoken with calmness that hardly rose above a whisper, but it seemed to the listener almost like a shout.  The thought of giving up his work simply because his church had not yet done what he wished, or because some of his people did not like him, was the last thing a man of his nature would do.  He looked again at the man and said: 

“Would you resign if you were in my place?”

“No.”  It was so quietly spoken that Philip almost doubted if his visitor had replied.  Then he said:  “What has been done with the parsonage?”

“It is empty.  The church is waiting to rent it to some one who expects to move to Milton soon.”

“Are you sorry you came here?”

“No; I am happy in my work.”

“Do you have enough to eat and wear?”

“Yes, indeed.  The thousand dollars which the church refused to take off my salary goes to help where most needed; the rest is more than enough for us.”

“Does your wife think so?” The question from any one else had been impertinent.  From this man it was not.

“Let us call her in and ask her,” replied Philip, with a smile.

“Sarah, the Brother Man wants to know if you have enough to live on.”