school, and the rector had called once or twice at the house, finding only the mother at home. So, as the man started toward the aisle, the clergyman intercepted him and shook hands with him.
"I, also," he said, "want to thank you for your conscientious courage, and for your sympathy with these disappointed people. I've been waiting to condole with Mrs. Bradley myself, although I am a stranger to her."
"You'll find her pretty bitter."
"So much the more need for sympathy."
"Yes, it won't come amiss. She's been hard hit, and it isn't right."
"I believe you. That's one of the problems that you and I, together with the rest of the American people, have got to thresh out sooner or later: how to right social wrongs without creating social calamities."
"Well, I think you're giving us some pretty good advice along that line. I've been once or twice to hear you preach lately, and it seems to me you're on the right track."
"I hope so. Come again."
"Thank you! I intend to."
The man went on down the aisle, and the rector walked back toward Mrs. Bradley. She had, in the meantime, been busying herself about her husband, buttoning his coat, putting his hat on his head, making him ready for the desolate journey home. The clergyman approached her.
"I am Mr. Farrar," he said, "rector of Christ Church."
"Yes," she replied quietly, "I know who you are."
"I have been deeply stirred by this case of yours. I want to give you my sympathy, and to talk with you about your husband and yourself."
"Thank you! I have no time to talk now. I must hurry home."
