He was one of those men who have, in the breaking down of the old Puritanical faith, and the dying out of the later Unitarian rationalism, advanced and established the Anglican church so notably in the New England hill-country, by a wise conformity to the necessities and exactions of the native temperament.  On the ecclesiastical side he was conscientiously uncompromising, but personally he was as simple-mannered as he was simple-hearted.  He was a tall lean man in rusty black, with a clerical waistcoat that buttoned high, and scholarly glasses, but with a belated straw hat that had counted more than one summer, and a farmer’s tan on his face and hands.  He pronounced the church-letter, though quite outside of his own church, a document of the highest respectability, and he listened with patient deference to the autobiography which Mrs. Lander poured out upon him, and her identifications, through reference to this or that person in Boston whom he knew either at first or second hand.  He had not to pronounce upon her syntax, or her social quality; it was enough for him, in behalf of the Claxons, to find her what she professed to be.

“You must think,” he said, laughing, “that we are over-particular; but the fact is that we value Clementina rather highly, and we wish to be sure that your hospitable offer will be for her real good.”

“Of cou’se,” said Mrs. Lander.  “I should be just so myself abort her.”

“I don’t know,” he continued, “that I’ve ever said how much we think of her, Mrs. Richling and I, but this seems a good opportunity, as she is not present.

“She is not perfect, but she comes as near being a thoroughly good girl as she can without knowing it.  She has a great deal of common-sense, and we all want her to have the best chance.”

“Well, that’s just the way I feel about her, and that’s just what I mean to give her,” said Mrs. Lander.

“I am not sure that I make myself quite clear,” said the rector.  “I mean, a chance to prove how useful and helpful she can be.  Do you think you can make life hard for her occasionally?  Can you be peevish and exacting, and unreasonable?  Can you do something to make her value superfluity and luxury at their true worth?”

Mrs. Lander looked a little alarmed and a little offended.  “I don’t know as I undastand what you mean, exactly,” she said, frowning rather with perplexity than resentment.  “But the child sha’n’t have a care, and her own motha couldn’t be betta to her than me.  There a’n’t anything money can buy that she sha’n’t have, if she wants it, and all I’ll ask of her is ’t she’ll enjoy herself as much as she knows how.  I want her with me because I should love to have her round; and we did from the very fust minute she spoke, Mr. Lander and me, both.  She shall have her own money, and spend it for anything she pleases, and she needn’t do a stitch o’ work from mohnin’ till night.  But if you’re afraid I shall put upon her”