Tumley.

To Frank, Jim was the one great friend life had given him. To very
many people in Green Valley Jim was just a gentle, frail little chap
with a beautiful, golden voice and a miserably weak stomach.

When the new minister put Jim in the choir, Green Valley was mildly
surprised though it quickly saw the common sense of the arrangement.
But Frank Burton was for the first time, to Green Valley's certain
knowledge, wholly pleased. And he showed his pleasure by never once
saying one single, scathing, cynical thing, even when told that Seth
Curtis was keeping the church books and getting religion on the side.
And he could have said so much.

What he did say was that he wouldn't mind seeing this kid minister from
India. For though months had passed since Cynthia's son arrived Frank
had never seen him. His unfortunate train time and his home-staying
habits kept him from meeting the newcomer. He pictured him as a rather
immature, likable, enthusiastic young person whom it might not be a
trial to meet once and then forget. And Frank made up his mind that if
he ever ran into the boy he would be sincerely courteous to him in
payment for his kindness to Jim. Then he promptly forgot everything in
his plans for a new chicken house.

He was reading his favorite poultry journal on the train one night when
the tall stranger accosted him. Frank didn't remember meeting the man,
but the stranger seemed to know him, so without hardly knowing why or
how Frank began to talk. And it was surprising how much the stranger
knew about chickens, pheasants and wild game. Indeed, he knew so much
that five stations from the city Frank was showing him diagrams of his