lower animals, including reptiles."

"Batrachians," I interposed, echoing as well as I could the
tone in which he had rebuked me before.

"Very well, batrachians--I am not a naturalist. But the
impression created on their minds appeared to be that I was
rather an odd person in the pulpit. When the time came to
pull the old church down the toad-keepers were bidden to
remove their pets, which they did with considerable
reluctance. What became of them I do not know--I never
inquired. I used to have a careful inspection made of the
floor to make sure that these creatures were not put back
in the new building, and I am happy to think it is not
suited to their habits. The floors are very well cemented,
and are dry and clean."

Having finished his story he invited me to go to the parsonage
and get some refreshment. "I daresay you are thirsty," he
said.

But it was getting late; it was almost dark in the church by
now, although the figure of the golden-haired saint still
glowed in the window and gazed at us out of her blue eyes. "I
must not waste more of your time," I added. "There are your
boys still patiently waiting to begin their practice--such
nice quiet fellows!"

"Yes, they are," he returned a little bitterly, a sudden
accent of weariness in his voice and no trace now of what I