"Right you are, my boy," said Bruce, with a laugh. "It's deucedly
unnatural."

"Not for Him," said the missionary, quietly. Then Bruce joyfully took
him up and led him on into a discussion of evidences, and from evidences
into metaphysics, the origin of evil and the freedom of the will, till
the missionary, as Bill said, "was rattled worse nor a rooster in the
dark." Poor little Mrs. Muir was much scandalized and looked anxiously
at her husband, wishing him to take her out. But help came from an
unexpected quarter, and Hi suddenly called out:

"Here you, Bill, shut your blanked jaw, and you, Bruce, give the man a
chance to work off his music."

"That's so! Fair play! Go on!" were the cries that came in response to
Hi's appeal.

The missionary, who was all trembling and much troubled, gave Hi a
grateful look, and said:

"I'm afraid there are a great many things I don't understand, and I am
not good at argument." There were shouts of "Go on! fire ahead, play the
game!" but he said, "I think we will close the service with a hymn." His
frankness and modesty, and his respectful, courteous manner gained the
sympathy of the men, so that all joined heartily in singing, "Sun of My
Soul." In the prayer that followed his voice grew steady and his nerve
came back to him. The words were very simple, and the petitions were
mostly for light and for strength. With a few words of remembrance of
"those in our homes far away who think of us and pray for us and never
forget," this strange service was brought to a close.