Mr. Engel picked up one of the books as it lay on the counter, and as he read the title his face betrayed a slight surprise.

“Modern criticism!” he exclaimed.

“You have found me out,” the rector acknowledged, smiling.

“Came into my room, and have a chat,” said the librarian, coaxingly.

It was a large chamber at the corner of the building, shaded by awnings, against which brushed the branches of an elm which had belonged to the original park.  In the centre of the room was a massive oak desk, one whole side of which was piled high with new volumes.

“Look there,” said the librarian, with a quick wave of his hand, “those are some which came in this week, and I had them put here to look over.  Two-thirds of ’em on religion, or religious philosophy.  Does that suggest anything to you clergymen?”

“Do many persons read them, Mr. Engel?” said the rector, at length.

“Read them!” cried Mr. Engel, quizzically.  “We librarians are a sort of weather-vanes, if people only knew enough to consult us.  We can hardly get a sufficient number of these new religious books the good ones, I mean—­to supply the demand.  And the Lord knows what trash is devoured, from what the booksellers tell me.  It reminds me of the days when this library was down on Fifth Street, years ago, and we couldn’t supply enough Darwins and Huxleys and Spencers and popular science generally.  That was an agnostic age.  But now you’d be surprised to see the different kinds of men and women who come demanding books on religion —­all sorts and conditions.  They’re beginning to miss it out of their lives; they want to know.  If my opinion’s worth anything, I should not hesitate to declare that we’re on the threshold of a greater religious era than the world has ever seen.”

Hodder thrust a book back into the pile, and turned abruptly, with a manner that surprised the librarian.  No other clergyman to whom he had spoken on this subject had given evidence of this strong feeling, and the rector of St. John’s was the last man from whom he would have expected it.

“Do you really think so?” Hodder demanded.

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Engel, when he had recovered from his astonishment.  “I’m sure of it.  I think clergymen especially—­if you will pardon me —­are apt to forget that this is a reading age.  That a great many people who used to get what instruction they had—­ahem—­from churches, for instance, now get it from books.  I don’t want to say anything to offend you, Mr. Hodder—­”

“You couldn’t,” interrupted the rector.  He was equally surprised at the discovery that he had misjudged Mr. Engel, and was drawn towards him now with a strong sympathy and curiosity.

“Well,” replied Mr. Engel, “I’m glad to hear you say that.”  He restrained a gasp.  Was this the orthodox Mr. Hodder of St. John’s?