allowed to wrestle with sinners and splash about in as much cold water
as he likes," was the criticism of one of his converts. Nevertheless,
it was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud and intolerant in his
tolerance. It was true that he was a little more rough, a little more
frank, a little more hearty, a little more impulsive than his disciples.
It was true that often the proclamation of his extreme liberality and
brotherly equality partook somewhat of an apology. It is true that a few
who might have been most benefited by this kind of gospel regarded
him with a singular disdain. It is true that his liberality was of an
ornamental, insinuating quality, accompanied with but little sacrifice;
his acceptance of a collection taken up in a gambling saloon for the
rebuilding of his church, destroyed by fire, gave him a popularity
large enough, it must be confessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers
themselves, but it was not proven that HE had ever organized any form
of relief. But it was true that local history somehow accepted him as
an exponent of mining Christianity, without the least reference to the
opinions of the Christian miners themselves.

The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were not, however,
shared by his only daughter, a motherless young lady of eighteen.
Nellie Wynn was in the eye of Excelsior an unapproachable divinity,
as inaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An
atmosphere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even in
the starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her neatly gloved
finger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her imperious red lips, in her
sensitive nostrils. Need it be said that the youth and middle age of
Excelsior were madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her?
For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was profoundly ignorant
in two languages, with a trained misunderstanding of music and painting,
and a natural and faultless taste in dress.