“You are dealing now, Mr. Atterbury,” he said, “with the things of Caesar, not of God.  This church belongs to God—­not to you.  But you have consecrated it to him.  His truth, as Christ taught it, must not be preached to suit any man’s convenience.  When you were young you were not taught the truth—­neither was I. It was mixed with adulterations which obscured and almost neutralized it.  But I intend to face it now, and to preach it, and not the comfortable compromise which gives us the illusion that we are Christians because we subscribe to certain tenets, and permits us to neglect our Christian duties.

“And since you have spoken of charity, let me assure you that there is no such thing as charity without the transforming, personal touch.  It isn’t the bread or instruction or amusement we give people vicariously, but the effect of our gift—­even if that gift be only a cup of cold water—­in illuminating and changing their lives.  And it will avail any church little to have a dozen settlement houses while her members acquiesce in a State which refuses to relieve her citizens from sickness and poverty.  Charity bends down only to lift others up.  And with all our works, our expenditure and toil, how many have we lifted up?”

Gordon Atterbury’s indignation got the better of him.  For he was the last man to behold with patience the shattering of his idols.

“I think you have cast an unwarranted reflection on those who have built and made this church what it is, Mr. Hodder,” he exclaimed.  “And that you will find there are in it many—­a great many earnest Christians who were greatly shocked by the words you spoke yesterday, who will not tolerate any interference with their faith.  I feel it my duty to speak frankly, Mr Hodder, disagreeable though it be, in view of our former relations.  I must tell you that I am not alone in the opinion that you should resign.  It is the least you can do, in justice to us, in justice to yourself.  There are other bodies—­I cannot call them churches—­which doubtless would welcome your liberal, and I must add atrophying, interpretation of Christianity.  And I trust that reflection will convince you of the folly of pushing this matter to the extreme.  We should greatly deplore the sensational spectacle of St. John’s being involved in an ecclesiastical trial, the unpleasant notoriety into which it would bring a church hitherto untouched by that sort of thing.  And I ought to tell you that I, among others, am about to send an Information to the bishop.”

Gordon Atterbury hesitated a moment, but getting no reply save an inclination of the head, took up his hat.

“Ahem—­I think that is all I have to say, Mr. Hodder.  Good morning.”

Even then Hodder did not answer, but rose and held open the door.  As he made his exit under the strange scrutiny of the clergyman’s gaze the little vestryman was plainly uncomfortable.  He cleared his throat once more, halted, and then precipitately departed.