"What sort of a chap is that preacher of yours?" he asked of the
storekeeper.

"I don't know; he ain't my church. Ask Innes there. He's a pillar."

Bayne turned to a long, lean, hard-faced man leaning against the
counter.

"My name is Bayne, from Red Pine, Mr. Innes. I am interested in knowing
what sort of a chap your preacher is. He comes out to our section, but I
never met him till to-day."

"Oh, he's no that bad," said Innes cautiously.

"Not worth a cent," said a little, red headed man standing near. "He
can't preach for sour apples."

"I wadna just say that, Mr. Hayes," said Innes.

"How do you know, Innes?" retorted Hayes. "You know you fall asleep
before he gets rightly started."

"I aye listen better with ma eyes shut."

"Yes, and snore better, too, Mac," said Hayes. "But I don't blame you.
Most of them go to sleep anyway. That's the kind of preacher he is."

"What sort of a chap is he? I mean what sort of man?"