shuffling gait. It is queer, Aunt Jennie, but before this tiny,
unpretentious parson I feel a sense of deference and high regard. To
think he is able to overcome his fears, that his gracile body has been
called upon to withstand the bufferings of storms, and that his notion of
duty should appear to raise him, physically, to the level of these rough
vikings among whom he labors, is quite bewildering. And the best of it is
that when he talks he is entirely free from that didactic authority so
often assumed by men of his cloth. He just admits you into his
confidence, that is all.

"Mrs. Barnett has told me of your kindness to her and the little chaps,"
he said. "I am so pleased that you have become acquainted. The thing a
woman misses most, in places like this, is her circle of friends. But she
is the bravest soul in the world, and although she worries a good deal
when I am away in bad weather she always looks cheerful when I return. I
have been blessed beyond my deserts, Miss Jelliffe."

The little man looked up at me, and I could see that his face was bright
with happiness, so that I had to smile in sympathy. I don't know that I
have ever realized before what a huge thing love and affection mean in
the lives of some people, how they can cast a glamour over sordid
surroundings and reward one for all the hardships.

"I am glad that you are happy," I told him. "I think that you have become
very fond of the place and of these people."

"I shall miss them if ever I am called away," he acknowledged, looking at
the poor, unpainted houses and the rickety flakes.

Dear Auntie Jennie, it looks to me as if these were people to be envied.