That which is all of God's world outside this little church of ours.
That in which the Altar is any humble spot pressed by the knees of the
Unfortunate. That in which the priest is whoso doeth a good, unselfish
deed, even if in the shadow of the scaffold. That in which the anthem of
visible charity for an erring brother sinks into the listening soul an
echo of an unseen Father's pity and forgiveness, and the choral service
is the music of kind words to all who ever found but unkind words
before."
"You must mean the Church of the Pooritans," said the Ritual Rector.
So, MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON went forth from Gospeler's Gulch to seek harbor
where he might; and, a day or two afterwards, Mr. BUMSTEAD exhibited to
Mr. SIMPSON the following entry in his famous Diary.
"No signs of that umbrella yet. Since the discovery of the watch and
seal-ring, I am satisfied that my umbrella, only, was the temptation of
the murderer. I now swear that I will no more discuss either my nephew
or my umbrella with any living soul, until I have found once more the
familiar boyish form and alpaca canopy, or brought vengeance upon him
through whom I am nephewless and without protection in the rain."
(_To be Continued._)
* * * * *