“On the contrary, sir,” said I, “to me there are all the evidences of the bad weather continuing.  I think it will be a bad day, with rain and probably thunder and lightning!  Good morning, sir!”

“Stay!” cried he as I turned away, and, with the word, set his hand upon the gate, and, vaulting nimbly over, came towards me, with a broad-brimmed straw hat in one hand and a long-stemmed wooden pipe in the other.

“Sir,” said he, “my cottage is close by; you look warn and jaded.  Will you not step in and rest awhile?”

“Thank you, sir; but I must be upon my way.”

“And whither lies your way?”

“To Sissinghurst, sir.”

“You have a long walk before you, and, with your permission, I will accompany you a little way.”

“With pleasure, sir!” I answered, “though I fear you will find me a moody companion, and a somewhat silent one; but then, I shall be the better listener, so light your pipe, sir, and, while you smoke, talk.”

“My pipe!” said he, glancing down at it; “ah! yes—­I was about to compose my Sunday evening’s sermon.”

“You are a clergyman, sir?”

“No, no—­a preacher—­or say rather—­a teacher, and a very humble one, who, striving himself after Truth, seeks to lend such aid to others as he may.”

“Truth!” said I; “what is Truth?”

“Truth, sir, is that which can never pass away; the Truth of Life is Good Works, which abide everlastingly.”

“Sir,” said I, “you smoke a pipe, I perceive, and should, therefore, be a good preacher; for smoking begets thought—­”

“And yet, sir, is not to act greater than to think?”

“Why, Thought far outstrips puny Action!” said I—­” it reaches deeper, soars higher; in our actions we are pigmies, but in our thoughts we may be gods, and embrace a universe.”

“But,” sighed the Preacher, “while we think, our fellows perish in ignorance and want!”

“Hum!” said I.

“Thought,” pursued the Preacher, “may become a vice, as it did with the old-time monks and hermits, who, shutting themselves away from their kind, wasted their lives upon their knees, thinking noble thoughts and dreaming of holy things, but—­leaving the world very carefully to the devil.  And, as to smoking, I am seriously considering giving it up.”  Here he took the pipe from his lips and thrust it behind his back.

“Why?”

“It has become, unfortunately, too human!  It is a strange thing, sir,” he went on, smiling and shaking his head, “that this, my one indulgence, should breed me more discredit than all the cardinal sins, and become a stumbling-block to others.  Only last Sunday I happened to overhear two white-headed old fellows talking.  ‘A fine sermon, Giles?’ said the one.  ’Ah! good enough,’ replied the other, ‘but it might ha’ been better—­ye see—­’e smokes!’ So I am seriously thinking of giving it up, for it would appear that if a preacher prove himself as human as his flock, they immediately lose faith in him, and become deaf to his teaching.”