shaking it over the answers as though they confirmed some suspicion
or anxiety.

At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie
come with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back
over her shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards
along the beach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across
the porch and waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without
replying. Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice:
"Hi, there! One moment, please."

It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset
light. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and
formidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious
summons gave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man's
square body and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted
with incongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken
threat of loneliness.

He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort.

"My friends," he said, "I am a minister of the gospel, and though
my mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its
ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will
not allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual
aid."

He cleared his throat. "Your name I didn't catch," he said doubtfully,
and Pete did not supply the knowledge, "but I heard you introduce
this young woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched