if the sun knew only too well how often it had been defeated in its
contest against the murky vapors of this hazy land.

My meeting with Mr. Barnett on the _Rosalind_ was a most fortunate
accident. The earnest little clergyman sat next to me at the table, and
immediately engaged me in conversation. I gathered from him that he had
been begging in the great city and had managed to collect a very few
hundred dollars for his little church. He spoke most cheerfully of all
that he meant to achieve with all this wealth.

"I am going to have the steeple finished," he said. "It will take but a
few feet of lumber, and we still have half a keg of nails. Some day I
expect to have a little reading room, and perhaps a magic lantern. I will
try to give them some short lectures. I am ambitious, and hope that I am
not expecting too much. We are really doing very nicely at Sweetapple
Cove."

"Where is that?" I asked him.

The little parson gave me the desired geographical information and,
finding me interested, began to speak of his work.

He was one of the small band of devoted men whose lives are spent on the
coast, engaged in serving their fellow-men to the best of their
abilities. The extent of his parish was scarcely limited by the ability
of a fishing boat to travel a day's journey, and he spoke very modestly
of some rather narrow escapes from storm and ice.

"If we only had a doctor!" he sighed. "Mrs. Barnett and I do our best.
Things are sometimes just heartrending."