“I shall have to go now,” he announced, perhaps a little regretfully.  “I hear, Miss Jelliffe, that you have helped minister to the needs of that poor Dick Will.  I am going to see him now.  By the way, I trust I may have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at our little church, if you can leave your dear patient long enough.”

“Of course I’ll come,” I promised, “and I would be glad to go with you now and see Dick.  I know Daddy won’t mind, and I should like to see whether I can do anything to make the man more comfortable.”

“Run along, my dear,” said Daddy.

Mr. Barnett expressed thanks, and we walked away together.  I actually had to shorten my steps a little to accommodate myself to his quick, shuffling gait.  It is queer, Aunt Jennie, but before this tiny, unpretentious parson I feel a sense of deference and high regard.  To think he is able to overcome his fears, that his gracile body has been called upon to withstand the bufferings of storms, and that his notion of duty should appear to raise him, physically, to the level of these rough vikings among whom he labors, is quite bewildering.  And the best of it is that when he talks he is entirely free from that didactic authority so often assumed by men of his cloth.  He just admits you into his confidence, that is all.

“Mrs. Barnett has told me of your kindness to her and the little chaps,” he said.  “I am so pleased that you have become acquainted.  The thing a woman misses most, in places like this, is her circle of friends.  But she is the bravest soul in the world, and although she worries a good deal when I am away in bad weather she always looks cheerful when I return.  I have been blessed beyond my deserts, Miss Jelliffe.”

The little man looked up at me, and I could see that his face was bright with happiness, so that I had to smile in sympathy.  I don’t know that I have ever realized before what a huge thing love and affection mean in the lives of some people, how they can cast a glamour over sordid surroundings and reward one for all the hardships.

“I am glad that you are happy,” I told him.  “I think that you have become very fond of the place and of these people.”

“I shall miss them if ever I am called away,” he acknowledged, looking at the poor, unpainted houses and the rickety flakes.

Dear Auntie Jennie, it looks to me as if these were people to be envied.  To the parson life is the prosecution of a work he deems all-important, and which he carries on with the knowledge that there is always a helping hand lovingly to uphold his own.  And yet I admire his wife still more deeply, for she looks like a queen who loves her exile, because the king is with her.

We went into the house in which Dick found shelter.  The men were away fishing, of course, but two women were there, with their fair share of the children who swarm in the Cove.  At once aprons were produced for the polishing of the two rough chairs of the establishment.