Dan laughed his big, hearty laugh, "I'm glad, too," he said. "Doctor
used to drive me wild out in the woods with tales of your cooking."

The Doctor could see that Martha was pleased at this by the way she
fussed with her apron.

"We always hoped that he would bring you with him on some of his trips,"
continued Dan, "we all wanted so much to meet you."

To the Doctor's astonishment, Martha stammered, "I--maybe I will go some
day." Then her manner underwent a change as if she had suddenly
remembered something. "You'll excuse me now while I put the dinner on,"
she said stiffly. "Just make yourself to home; preachers always do in
this house, even if Doctor don't belong." She hurried away, and Dan
looked at his host with his mother's questioning eyes. The Doctor knew
what it was. Dan had felt it even in the house of his dearest friend. It
was the preacher Martha had welcomed, welcomed him professionally
because he was a preacher. And the Doctor felt again _that_ something
that had come between him and the lad.

"Martha doesn't care for fishing," he said gently.

Then they went out on the porch, and the old man pointed out to Dan his
room across the way--the room that looked out upon the garden and the
monument.

"Several of your congregation wanted to have you in their homes," he
explained. "But I felt--I thought you might like to be--it was near
me you see--and handy to the church." He pointed to the building up
the street.