“Look here, gentlemen,” said Mr. Wheaton, taking the proffered seat, “we’ve been fooling about this minister business long enough.”

“Been fooled you mean,” said Deacon Goodsole.

“I tell you,” said Mr. Wheaton, slapping his knee by way of emphasis, “that young Maurice Mapleson is the man for us.  The more I think of it the more I am sure of it.”

“He is a right earnest man,” said the Deacon.  “I think he was the first spark we have seen in the ashes of our prayer meeting for many a day.”

“Can’t you get him to come down, Mr. Laicus?” asked Mr. Wheaton.

I shook my head resolutely.

“Not as a candidate you know, but on some dodge or other.  Invite him to spend a week with you, and book on to him for the pulpit when Sunday comes.”

“He isn’t the man for dodges,” said the Deacon, doubtfully.

I shook my head as decidedly to the second proposition as to the first.

“Well then,” said Mr. Wheaton, “if he won’t come here we will have to go there.  It isn’t far.”

The Deacon doubted whether the church would agree to deviate from the old paths.

“They wouldn’t have done it,” said Mr. Wheaton.  “But they’ll agree to anything now I think.”

“Mr. Gear recommended that plan when we first met,” said I.  “He will approve of it.  But how as to Mr. Hardcap?”

“Oh! no matter about Hardcap,” said Mr. Wheaton, “he’s no account.”

“Excuse me,” said I, “he is one of our committee and is of account.”

So after some consultation it was finally agreed that we should get off at the Mill Village Station to see Mr. Gear, and then walk up to Wheathedge.  Deacon Goodsole also proposed to put Mr. Hardcap on the special committee to go to Koniwasset Corners, and Mr. Wheaton said he would furnish a free pass over the road to all who would go.  No man is impervious to compliments if they are delicately administered.  At all events Mr. Gear was sensibly pleased by having us call on him in a body.  And Mr. Hardcap, when he found that the new plan involved a free ride on the railroad and a Sunday excursion for himself, withdrew all objections.

My wife says, “For shame, John,” and wants me to strike that last sentence out.  But it is true, and I do not know why it should not stand.  It is in confidence you know.

The next Saturday Mr. Wheaton, Mr. Hardcap and Deacon Goodsole started for Koniwasset Corners.  They reached it, or rather they reached Koniwasset, the nearest point, Saturday evening, and Sunday morning rode over, a drive of five miles.  It was a beautiful day; the congregation turned out well; the little church was full, and Maurice, unconscious of the presence of a committee, and preaching, not to fish for a place, but to fish for men, was free, unconstrained and, as Providence willed it, or as good fortune would have it (the reader may have his choice of expressions, according as he is Christian or heathen), was in a