He had his mother's trick of letting people look quite suddenly into
that part of his soul where he kept his finest thoughts and emotions.
And people looked and saw and then usually tiptoed away in puzzled awe
or a dim sympathy. And he had such a habit of turning common sense and
daylight on matters which seemed so baffling until he explained them.

It was just the minister's plain, common sense that finally got Hank
Lolly into the church. When the minister first suggested that Hank
ought to attend church services that worthy stared in amazed horror at
his new friend. And he gave his perfectly good reasons why the likes
of him had no right to step on what was Green Valley's sacred ground.

"Hank, you are entirely mistaken. I have seen you go into Green Valley
parlors and every other room in the house. I watched you move that
clumsy old sideboard of Mrs. Luttins down that narrow stairway and then
through the little side gate. You never chipped a bit of plaster or
trampled a flower beside the walk. Why, you never even tore a bit of
vine off the gate. And yesterday I saw you walking your horses ever so
carefully to the station because inside the van little Jimmy Drummond
was lying on stretchers, going to the hospital. And I was told that
Doc Philipps said he wouldn't have trusted another driver with Jimmy."

"But," groaned Hank, "people like me don't go to church."

"Hank, most ministers don't ride around the country on a moving dray.
But I rode out with you many a time and I sort of feel that you might
come along with me now and then and see the people and things along my
route. You've given me a good time and I'd like to pay back. You'll
like the music and I'm sure you'll understand it all, because I talk
English you know. And anyhow, things get as lonesome sometimes for a