appealing to our sympathies."

"What do you take to be the secret, then?" asked Charley, with a look
half abstracted, half quizzical. "Terror--sheer terror. You startled
the conscience. You made defects in the circumstantial evidence, the
imminent problems of our own salvation. You put us all on trial. We
were under the lash of fear. If we parsons could only do that from the
pulpit!"

"We will discuss that on our shooting-trip next week. Duck-shooting
gives plenty of time for theological asides. You are coming, eh?"

John Brown scarcely noticed the sarcasm, he was so delighted at the
suggestion that he was to be included in the annual duck-shoot of the
Seven, as the little yearly party of Charley and his friends to Lake
Aubergine was called. He had angled for this invitation for two years.

"I must not keep you," Charley said, and dismissed him with a bow. "The
sheep will stray, and the shepherd must use his crook."

Brown smiled at the badinage, and went on his way rejoicing in the fact
that he was to share the amusements of the Seven at Lake Aubergine--the
Lake of the Mad Apple. To get hold of these seven men of repute and
position, to be admitted into this good presence!--He had a pious
exaltation, but whether it was because he might gather into the fold
erratic and agnostical sheep like Charley Steele, or because it pleased
his social ambitions, he had occasion to answer in the future. He gaily
prepared to go to the Lake of the Mad Apple, where he was fated to eat
of the tree of knowledge.