Cynthia's son found Mr. Austin in his proper and neat office. He went
straight to the point.

"Mr. Austin, I've just heard that you were not feeling well, that you
were seriously ill from overwork. I can readily believe that. You
need rest and a change and freedom from wearisome responsibilities. I
think I know just how you feel. Sort of tired and listless. Mother
used to get that way in India. Even father used to say sometimes that
things did every once in a while look mighty hopeless and useless, but
that they'd look bright again after a week or two in the hills. So
then we went off for a vacation. That's just what's the matter with
you. You need a vacation. And in so far as I can I want to help you
get one. You work too hard for the church. Keeping track of accounts
and generally managing church matters is always a trying matter.
Father always found it so.

"So I have been thinking of getting you an assistant, some one to look
after things while you take a rest. Why, they tell me you have
shouldered church responsibilities since you were a child."

"Yes," modestly admitted the most respectable Mr. Austin. "I have
worked for the church these many years and I do need a vacation. But
who is there to attend to these matters? I know of no one in Green
Valley who could fill my place."

So in complacent, pathetic self-conceit said poor Mr. Austin. And he
was utterly unprepared for what followed.

"Why," said Green Valley's new minister without so much as winking an