"Pardon me! I'll not keep you. But I'll call on you, if I may, at your leisure."
"I shall have no leisure."
"Then at your convenience."
"It will not be convenient."
It was strange that the woman who had so eloquently poured her grievance into the ears of the friendly juror should have become so suddenly taciturn and unapproachable. The clergyman could not understand it. But it was his business, as a servant of Christ, to break down barriers that separated him from human hearts, so he persisted.
"Surely," he said, "you will not refuse to see me. I understand your disappointment. I realize your suffering. I may be able to comfort you, possibly to help you. Give me the opportunity to try."
She straightened up then, and faced him.
"I don't want to be rude to you," she replied. "I have nothing against you. I've heard that you are well-intentioned toward men and women who work. But I have little use for preachers. They are hired by the rich, they associate with the rich, they are under the control of the rich. They have nothing in common with the class to which I belong, therefore they cannot help us. I am sure you can do no good, either to my husband or to me. I'd rather you wouldn't come."
She turned again to her husband and began to tuck in the plaid robe that covered his lap. The clergyman stood, startled and speechless. This was the first time in his life that he had been arraigned in this manner. After a moment, however, he gathered his thoughts sufficiently to say:
"I think you misjudge us, Mrs. Bradley. I know you misjudge me. It is my effort to do the Master's will among all His people, rich or poor, humble or exalted."
"Yes, that's what they all say. But they do dis-
