"Well, they must have seen me when I preached here before. I remember--"

"Mercy on us! that was in meetin'. Meetin's diff'rent. All they could
say to you then was how much they liked your sermon. They say that to
every minister that comes, no matter how they may pick him to pieces
afterwards. But here they can ask you questions; about how you came to
come here and what you think of it far's you've got, and what your views
are on certain points in the creed. Likewise, who your folks were and
whether they was well off, and a few things like that. Then they'll want
to see what kind of clothes you wear and--"

"Whew!" Ellery whistled. "You're unfolding a pleasant prospect for me, I
must say. Am I supposed to be catechized on all of my private affairs?"

"Of course! A minister hasn't got any private affairs; he's a public
character. There!" she laughed, as she poured the coffee, "I mustn't
discourage you. But don't you see that every mother's son--and, for that
matter, every daughter and children's child unto the third and fourth
generation--feel that, so long as they pay pew rent or put a cent in the
collection, they own a share in you. And we always keep a watch on our
investments down this way. That's the Yankee shrewdness you read so much
about, I guess."

The minister absently played with his spoon.

"I'm afraid you're a cynic," he said.

"No, no, I ain't. Though sometimes, considerin' everything, I feel as
though I had excuse enough if I wanted to belong to that tribe. But