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The old man’s face grew grim. It had been ludicrous before with its swollen jaw. “Baptist!” He turned a stern look upon his son, whose smile angered him. “Didn’t you know no more’n to bring a Baptist preacher into this house?”

“There, there, father!” began the wife.

“Be quiet. I’m boss of this shanty, and I won’t have you bringing–“

Herman struck in: “Don’t make a show of yourself, old man. Never mind the old gent, Stacey; he’s mumpy to-day, anyhow.”

Stacey rose. “I guess I–I’d better not stay–I–“

“Oh no, no! Sit down! It’s all right. The old man’s a little acid at me. He doesn’t mean it.”

Stacey got his coat and hat. His heart was swollen with indignation. He felt as if something fine were lost to him, and the land outside was so desolate!

Mrs. Allen was in tears; but the old man, having taken his stand, was going to keep it.

Herman lost his temper a little. “Well, Dad, you’re a little the cussedest Christian I ever knew! Stacey, sit down. Don’t you be a fool just because he is–“

Stacey was buttoning his coat with trembling hands when Martha went up to him.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Father’s sick and cross. He’ll be sorry for this to-morrow.”

Wallace looked into her frank, kindly eyes, and hesitated.

Herman said: “Dad, you are a lovely follower of Christ! You’ll apologize for this, or I’ll never set foot on your threshold again.”

Stacey still hesitated. He was hurt and angry, but being naturally of a sweet and gentle nature, he grew sad, and, yielding to the pressure of the girl’s hand on his arm, he began to unbutton his overcoat.

She helped him with it, and hung it back on the nail, and her mother and Herman tried to restore something of the brightness which had been lost; but Allen sat grimly eating, his chin pushed down like a hog’s snout.

After supper, as his father was about retiring to his bedroom, Herman fixed his bright eyes on him, and something very hard and masterful came into his face.

“Old man, you and I haven’t had a settlement on this thing yet. I’ll see you later.”

Allen shrank before his son’s look, but shuffled sullenly off without uttering a word.

Herman turned to Wallace. “Stacey, I want to beg your pardon for getting you into this scrape. I didn’t suppose the old gentleman would act like that. The older he gets, the more his New Hampshire granite shows. I hope you won’t lay it up against me.”

Wallace was too conscientious to say he didn’t mind it, but he took Herman’s hand in a quick clasp.

“Let’s have a song,” proposed Herman. “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, to charm a rock, and split a cabbage.”

They went into the best room, where a fire was blazing, and Mattie and Herman sang hymns and old-fashioned love-songs and college glees wonderfully intermingled. They ended with Lorena, a wailing, extra sentimental love-song current in war times, and when they looked around there was a lofty look on the face of the young preacher–a look of exaltation, of consecration and resolve.

III

The next morning, at breakfast, Herman said, as he seized a hot biscuit, “We’ll dispense with grace this morning, and till after the war is over.” But Wallace blessed his bread in a silent prayer, and Mattie thought it very brave of him to do so.

Herman was full of mockery. “The sun rises just the same, whether it’s ‘sprinkling’ or ‘immersion.’ It’s lucky Nature don’t take a hand in these theological contests. She doesn’t even referee the scrap; she never seems to care whether you are sparring for points or fighting to a finish. What you theologic middle-weights are really fighting for I can’t see–and I don’t care, till you fall over the ropes on to my corns.”

Stacey listened in a daze to Herman’s tirade. He knew it was addressed to Allen, and that it deprecated war, and that it was mocking. The fresh face and smiling lips of the young girl seemed to put other affairs very far away. It was such a beautiful thing to sit at table with a lovely girl.