The Missioner

arance, at the neatly cut hedges, the well-kept road, the many signs of prosperity. He looked at the little grey church standing in its ancient walled churchyard, where the road divided, a very delightful addition to the picturesque beauty of the place. He looked at all these things and he sighed.

"Mr. Hurd," he said, "you are a man of experience. You know very well that material and spiritual welfare are sometimes things very far apart."

Mr. Hurd frowned and turned his pony's head towards home.

"I know nothing of the sort, sir," he snapped. "What I do know is that we don't want any Salvation Army tricks here. You should stay in the cities. They like that sort of thing there."

"I must come where I am sent, Mr. Hurd," the young man answered. "I cannot do your people any harm. I only want to deliver my message--and go."

Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round.

"I submitted your letter to Miss Thorpe-Hatton," he said. "She agrees with me that your ministrations are wholly unnece