for himself, but what he did say made me believe he was consistent; he
doesn't stop short where his creed ceases to be agreeable, and you know
that is unusual."

"Well," remarked the older man, "he might be consistent and belong to
either school. I am told the difference consists merely in the fact that
the old school have cold roast beef on the Sabbath, and the new school
have hot roast beef on Sunday. But doubtless both unite on hell for other
sects."

The rector's quick laugh was silenced by the game, but at the next pause
he hastened to tell them what John Ward had said of slavery. "Fancy such
a speech!" he cried, his face growing red at the remembrance. "Under the
circumstances, I couldn't tell him what I thought of him; but I had my
opinion. I wonder," he went on, rattling a bunch of keys in his pocket,
"what would be the attitude of a mind like his in politics? Conservative
to the most ridiculous degree, I imagine. Of course, to a certain extent,
it is proper to be conservative. I am conservative myself; I don't like
to see the younger generation rushing into things because they are new,
like Gifford,--calling himself a Democrat. I beg your pardon, Miss
Deborah, for finding fault with the boy."

"Ah, doctor, ladies don't understand politics," answered Miss Deborah
politely.

"But really," said the rector, "for a boy whose father died for the
Union, it's absurd, you know, perfectly absurd. But Ward! one can't
imagine that he would ever change in anything, and that sort of
conservatism can be carried too far."