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or tfie Cupß Churchill ", “The Crisis,” Coniston” / Montgomery Flag X £nt gazing out at a formal garden at the ack of the house. The stalks of late flow irsxlay withering, but here and there the eaves were still vivid, and clusters of crim ion berries gleamed in the autumn sunshine t pergola ran down the middle, and through lenuded grapevines he caught a glimpse, at lie far end, of sculptured figures and curv ng marble benches surrounding a pool. "What a wonderful spot!” he exclaimed. ‘ My daughter Alison designed it.” "She must have great talent,” said the ■ector. "She’s gone to New York and become a andscape architect,” said his host with a lerceptible dryness. “Women in these days ire apt to be everything except what the ,ord intended them to be.” They went down stairs, and Hodder took lis leave, although he felt an odd reluctance o go. Mr. Parr rang the bell 'J'll send you down in the motor,” he said. “I’d like the exercise of walking." said the ector. "I begin to miss it already, in the :ity.” ' You look as if you had taken a great leal of it,” Mr. Parr declared, following him o the door. “I hope you'll drop in often. Sven if I’m not here, the gallery and the ibrary are at your disposal.” Their eyes met. "You’re very good,” Hodder replied, and cent down the steps and through the open oorway. At, length, after he had been wa’king for early an hour, he halted and looked about im. ’ He was within a few blocks of the hurch, a little to one side of Tower Street,-- le main east and west highway of the ci v. i the midst of that district in which Mr. yrr had made the remark that poverty as inevitable. Slovenly and depressing a. ootjday, it. seemed now frankly to have ting off its mask. Dusk was gathering, nd with it a smoke-stained fog that lent a icklydinge to the lights. Women slunk by im; the saloons, apparently closed, and iany houses with veiled windows betrayed »cret and sinister gleams. In the midst of block rose a tall, pretentious though 'icaply constructed building with the words I’ctel Albert.” in flaming electric letters beye an archway. Once his eye read “Dal ?:i Street” on a lamp. I Mi dor :esurned his walk more slowly, rd in a few minutes reached his rooms in ie parish house. ■;r.c Riddles of the Twentieth Century. a LTHOUGH he found the oom plications of a modern city / parish somewhat bewilder ing. the new rector entered jTk. into his duties that Winter with apostolic zeal. He was aware of limitations and anomalies, but his faith was |?;itfdless. his energy the subject of good -fgred comment by his vestry and. parish es er?, whose pressing invitations to din io ts he was often compelled to refuse fhpye wa: in John Hodder something in stfttable that inflamed curiosity and 'eft t unsatisfied. lit was only natural that he should have L moods of depression. But the recurrent pw of his energy swept them away. Cynic k- had no place in his militant Chrin hnity, and yet there were times when he I 'noered »>i.ether these good people really fished achievements from their rector, they had the air of saying "Bravo!” and pen of turning away. And he did nor con ieal from himself that he was really doing othiag but labor. The distances were treat; and between his dinner parties, [lasses, services and visits, he was forced Ip’ sit far into the night preparing his ser [ions, when his brain was not so keen as I might have been. Indeed—and this thought was cynical and [in of character —he asked himself on one kcasion whether his principal achievement [o far had not consisted in getting on tin isual terms with Elder Parr. They were lot lacking who thought so, and who did not lesitate to imply it. They evidently re arded his growing intimacy with the bank r yith approval, as in some sort a supreme uoilfication for a rector of St. John’s, and proof of unusual abilities There could ie no question, for instance, that he had dvanced perceptibly in the estimation of as wife of another of his vestrymen, Mrs. Vallis Plimpton. I "I. think it quite wonderful.” she re harked, on the occasion at which he was he guest of honor in what was still called he tiew Gore mansion, “that you have come p know Mr. Parr so well in such a short lime. How did you do it, Mr. Hodder? bl course Wallis knows him. and sees a Leat deal of him in business matters. He Jias on Wallis. But they tell me you han rown more intimate with him than any tie has been since Alison left him.” I’odder himself was at a loss io account or ’ the relationship. It troubled him agiiely, for Mr. Parr was the aggressor; ml often at dusk, when Hodder was work bg under his study lamp, the telephone I'ould ring, and on taking • own the re ■yer he would hear the banker's voice Tjn alone to-nigh r , Mr. Hodder. Wil 1 on 'come and have dinner with me?” WING partly to the old-fash f !on<?d ideas of Dr. Gilman, S and partly to the conserva v W tism of its vestry, the in stitutionalism of St. John’s was by no means up to date. No settlement house, with day nurseries, was biintained In the slums The parish house, r.itt in the early nineties, had its gymnasi- um hall and class and reading rooms, but was not what in these rapidly moving times would be called modern. Presiding over its activities, and seconded by a pile, but earnest young man recently ordained, was Hodder’s first assistant, the Reverend Mr. McCrae. The results accomplished seemed strange ly disproportionate to the efforts—for they, labored abundantly. The Italian mothers appear”- stolidly appreciative of the altru ism of Miss Ramsay, who taught the kinder garten. ia taking their charges off their hands for three hours of a morning, and the same might be said of the Jews and Germans and Russians The newsboys en joyed the gymnasium and reading rooms: some of them were drafted into the choir, yet the singing of Te Deums failed some how to accomplish the miracle of regenera tion. The boys, as a rule, were happier, no doubt: the new environments not wholly without results. But the rector was an idealist. He strove hard to become their friend, and that of the men; to win their confi dence. and with a considerable measure of success. On more than one occasion he threw aside his clerical coat and put on boxing gloves and he gave a series of lec tures. with lantern slides collected during the six months he had once spent in Eu rope. Tile Irish-Americano and the Ger mans were the readiest to respond, and these were for the most part young working men and youths by no means destitute. They liked and trusted him —on a tacit condition. There was a boundary he might' not cross. One night as he stood with his assistant in the hall after the men had gone, Hodder could contain himself no longer. “Look- here, McCrae,” he broke out, “these nmn never come to enurch —or only a very few of them.” "No more they do," McCrae agreed. "We’re not. making Christians of them." said Hodder, beginning to walk up and down. Why is it?” “Try to teach them religion." said Mc- Crae —he almost pronounced it releeglon —"and see what happens. Ye'll have no classes at all. They only come, the best of them, because ye let. them alone that way, and they get a little decency and so ciety help. It's somewhat to keep them out of the dance halls and saloons, maybe.' “What's the use of reaching them, only to touch them'’ in addition to being helpeo materially and social T-. and kept away from the dance halls and saloons, they ought to be fired by the Gospel, to be remade. They should be going out into the highways and byways to bring others into the church." . The Scotchman’s face changed a little For an instant his eyes lighted up. whether in sympathy or commiseration or both. Hodder could not tell. “I'm with ye. Mr. Hodder, if ye'll show me the way But oughtn’t we to begin at both ends?" “At both ends?" Hodder repeated "Surely. With the people in the pews? Oughtn't we to be firing them, too?” “Yes," said the rector. “You’re right.” He turned away, to feel McCrae’s hand on his sleeve. “Maybe it will come, Mr Hodder.” he said. "There's no telling when the light will strike in.” It was the nearest to optimism he had ever known his assistant to approach. "McCrae." he asked, "have you ever tried to do anything with Dalton Street?" "Dalton Street?” "Yes," Hodder forced himself to go on. and it came to him that he had repeated virtually the same words to Mr. Parr, "it is at our very doors, a continual reproach. There is real poverty in those rooming houses, and I have never seen vice so de slant and shameless.” • “It’s a shifty place, that.” McCrae re plied. “They’re in it one day and gone the next, a son of catch-basin for all the rub bish of the city. I can recall when decent people lived there, and now it's all ligh; housekeeping and dives and what not." "But that doesn't relieve us of response bility,” Hodder observed. “I'm not denying it. I think, ye'll find here’s very little to get hold of.” SV ND A Y after Sunday Hodder looked upon the same picture, the Winter light filtering through emblazoned window's, falling athwart stone pillars, and stain ins with rich colors the marble of the centre aisle. The organ rolled out hymns and anthems, the voices of the whit.e-rnbed choir echoed among the arches. And Hodder’s eye. sweeping over the decorous congregation, grew *o recognize certain landmarks: Eldon Parr, rigid at one end of his empty pew; little Everett Constable, comfortably, but always pompously settled at one end of bi?, his white-haired and distinguished-looking wife at the other. He invariably turned from his contem plation of Gordon Atterbury to the double Waring pew. which went from aisle to aisle, in his heart, he have preferred the approval of Eleanor Goodrich and her hus band, who came on alternate Sundays, and of Asa Waring Instinct spoke to him hete; he seemed lo read in their faces that he failed to strike in them responsive chords. He was drawn io them: the conviction grew upon him that he did not reach them, and it troubled him, as he thought, dispropor tionately The rector’s office in the parish house was a businesslike room on the first floor, fitted up with a desk, a table, straight backed chairs, and a revolving bookcase And te it, one windy morning in March, came Eleanor Goodrich. Hodder rose to greet her with an eagerness which, from his kindly yet penetrating glance, she did not suspect. “I wanted to ask you one or two things," she began, not very steadily “As perhaps you may know. J was brought up in this church, baptized and confirmed in it. I’ve come to fear that, when I was confirmed, I wasn’t old enough to know what I was doing.” She took a deep breath, amazed at her boldness, for this wasn't in the least how she had meant to begin. And she gazed it the rector anxiously. To her surprise, he did not appear to be inordinately shocked "Do you know any better now?" he asked “Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But the things of which I was sure at that time I am not sure of now. My faith is—is not as complete.” ‘ Faith may be likened to an egg, Mrs. Goodrich,” ne said. "It must be kept whole- If the shell is chipped, it is spoiled." Eleanor plucked up her courage. Eggs, she declared, had been used as illustrations by conservatives before now. Hodder relieved her by smiling in ready appt relation. “Columbus had reference to this world,' he said ' I was thinking of a mors perfect one.” v "Oh!” sbe cried, “I dare say there is a more perfect one. I should hate to think there wasn't—but I can't imagine it There’s nothing in the Bible in the wav of description of it to make me really wish to go there. The New Jerusalem is too in sipid, too material. I m sure I'm shocking you, but I ve got to be honest, to sav wnar I feel" "If others would be as honest." said the rector, “the problems of clergymen would be much easier. And it is precisely be cause people will not tell us what they feel tnat we are left in the dark and cati not help them. Os course, the language of St. John about the future is figurative.” "Then I wish it hadn’t been made so ex plicit. Its very definiteness is somehow— stultifying. And Mr. Hodder, if we were not meant to know its details, it. seems to me that if the hereafter is to have any real value and influence over our lives here, we xh'iulri know something of its eonditloii because it must be in some sense a continu ation of this. I'm not sure that I make mysqlf clear." Admirably clear. But we have our Lord’s example of how to live here." "If we could be sure,” said Eleanor, "just what that example meant." Hodder was silent a moment. "You mean that you cannot accept what the Church teaches about His life?" he asked. "No, I can't,” she faltered. “You have helped me to say it. I want to have the Church’s side better explained—that’s why I’m here.” "Please continue to be frank,” he begged. "I can't believe in the doctrine of the immaculate Conception.” she responded in a low voice; “it seems to me so—so mate rial. And I feel I am stating a difficulty that many have. Mr. Hodder. Why should it have been thought necessary for God to have departed from what is really a sacred and sublime fact in nature, to resort to a material proof in order to convince a doubt ing humanity that Jesus was His Son?" "1 think people suffer in these days from giving too much weight to the critics of Christianity,” said th® rector, "from not pondering more deeply on its underlying truths-” "I do," she murmured. "And the more one reflects on the life of our Lord, the more one is convinced that rhe doctrine of the Immaculate Conception is a vital essential; without it Christianity falls to pieces, in spite of the contradic tions of science, it explains as nothing else can the mystery of the divinity as well as the 1 imanity of the Saviour." Eleanor was unconvinced. She felt, as she listened, the pressure of his sincerity and force, and had to strive to prevent her thoughts from becoming confused. "Os one thing I am assured, Mrs. Good rich," Hodder replied, "that the logical re sult of independent thinking is anarchy. Under this modern tendency toward in dividual creeds, the Church has split and split again, until, if it keeps on, we shall have no Church at all to carry on the work of our Lord on earth History proves that to take, anything away from the faith Is to atrophy, to destroy it. The answer to your arguments is to be seen on every side, athe ism. hypodlisy. vice, misery, insane and cruel grasping after wealth. There is only one remedy I < an see.” he added, inflexibly, yet with a touch of sadness, "believe.” "What if we can't believe?” she asked. "You can." He spoke with unshaken conviction. “You can if you make the effort and ' am sure you will." Yet. as he stood in the window looking after her retreating figure, there gradually grew upon him a vague and uncomfortable feeling that be had not been satisfactory, and this was curiously coupled with the realization that the visit had added a con siderable increment to his already pro nounced liking for Eleanor Goodrich. She was, paradoxically, kind nf a prison— such was the form the puzzle took. The Clergyman's Conscience. ONE bright and boisterous af ternoon in March. Hodder alighted from an electric car amid a swirl of dust and stood gazing for a moment at the stone gate-houses of that runs in urbe, Waverly Place and at the gold block-letters written thereon, “No Thorough fare.” As Hodder penetrated this hallowed pre cinct he recognized, on either hand, the rest dences of several of his parishioners each in its ample allotted space: Mrs. Larrab- bees; the Laureston Greys; Thurston Gore's, of which Mr. Wallis Plimpton was now' the master—Mr. Plimpton, before whose pertinacity the wails of Jericho had fallen; and finally the queer, twisted Rich ardson mansion of the Everett Constables, whither he was bound, with its recessed doorw'ay and tiny windows peeping out from under medieval penthouses. He was ushered into a library where the shades were already drawn, where a white clamed tea-table was set before the fire, the red rays dancing on the silver tea-kettle. He stood picturing, now. the woman in answer to whose summons he had come With her finely chiseled features, her abun dant wh.ee hair, her slim figure and erect carriage she reminded him always of a Vigee Lebrun portrait. He turned ait the sound of her voice behind him. “How good of you to come, Mr. Hodder, when you were so busy,” she said, taking his hand as she seated herself behind the tea-kettle. “I wanted the chance to talk to you, and it seemed the best way. I wanted to taL, to you about Gertrude.” He looked unenlightened. “About my daughter. Mrs. Warren. She lives in New York, jou know —on Long Island.” • Running through Hodders mind, a trou bled current, were certain memories con nected with Mrs. Warren. Was she the divor"ed daughter, or was she not'’ “Lae's had such a hard time, poor dear, my heart has bled for her.” There was a barely perceptible tremor in Mrs. Consta ble’s voice. “All that publicity, and the in evitable suffering connected with it! And no one can know the misery she went through, she is so sensitive. But now, at last, she has a chance for harp ness —the real thing has come.” "The real thing!” he echoed. "Yes. She’s going to marry a splendid man, E dridge Sumner. 1 know the family well The- have always stood for public spirit, and this Mr. Sumner, although he is little over thirty, was chairman of that Vic- Commission which made such a stir in New York a year ago. He’s a lawyer, with a fine future, and they’re madly in love And Gertrude realizes now, after her experience the true values in life She -w as only a child when she married Victor Warren. « "Bui. Mr. Warren,” Hodder managed to ■ay “is still living." "I sometimes wonder, Mr Hodder, she went on hurriedly, "whether we c«» realize how different the world is to-day from what it was twenty years ago. until some thing of this kind is actually brought home to us. 1 shall never forget how distressed, how overwhelmed Mr. Constable and I were when Gertrude got her divorce. I know that they are regarding such things diffeentiy in tne East, but out here—Wq never dreamed that such a thing could happen to us. and we regarded it as a dis grace. But gradually"—she hesitated and looked at the motionless clergyman— •gradually I began to see Gertrude’s point of view, to understand that she had made a mistake; that she had been too young to comprehend what she was doing. Victor Warren had been ruined by money; he wasn't faithful to her, but an extraordinary thing has happened in his case He’s narried again, and Gertrude tells me he’s ■ •’div hum' and has two children.” “You are telling me this, Mrs. Constable— vhy?” lie asked "Because I wished you to know the exact situation before I asked you, as a great favor to me, to Mr. Constable, to —to marrv her in St. John's. Os course,” she went on, controlling her rising agitation, and antici pating a sign of protest, “we shouldn’t ex pect to have any people—and Gertrude wasn’t married in St John's before; that wedding was at Passumset—our seashore place. Oh, Mr. Hodder, before you answer, think of our feelings, Mr. Constable’s and mine! If you could see Mr. Constable, you would know how he suffers ■•this thing has upset him more than the divorce.” She paused, breathing deeply, and Hodder gazed at her with pity. What he felt was more than pity; he was experiencing, indeed, but with a deeper emotion, something cf that same confusion cf values into which Eh i nor Goodrich’s visit had thrown him. “It gives me great pain to have to refuse 5 ou,” he said gently. "Oh. don’t” she said, sharply, "don't say that! 1 can't have made the case clear You are too big. too comprehending, Mr. Hodder, to have a hard-and-fast rule. There must be times —extenuating circumstances — and I believe the canons make it optional for a clergyman to marry the innocent per son.” "Yes, it Is optional, but I do not believe it should be. The question is left to the cler gyman's conscience According to my view, Mrs. Constable, the Church, as the agent of God. effects an indissoluble bond And. much as I should like to do anything in my power for you and Mr. Constable, you have as' ’be impossible “But surely," she said, "we ought not tn be punished for our mistakes! 1 cannot be f lieve that Christ Himself intended that His religion should be so inelastic, so hard and fast, so cruel as you imply. Surely thorn is enough unhappiness without making more." Hodder did not attempt to refute her—she had, indeed, made discussion impossible. She knew his arguments, as she had de • lared, and he had the intelligence to realize that a repetition of them, on his part, would be useless. He sat gaz.lng at her. his head bent, his strong bands on the arms of the chair. "We never can foresee how we may change,” he answered, a light in his eyes that was like a smile, yet having no suggns tion of levity And his voice—despite his disagreement—maintained the quality of his sympathy. The continuation of this masterly novel is in the July Hearst’s Magazine'. You will find it at all newsstands, and tho price js IS cents —or. better yet, mail a dollar bill to Hearst's Magazine, 3kl Fourth ave, \ew York City, and receive this magazine < ach month for tho rest of this year, including a!l ■f 'his Intenselv |nt" r esting novel ...... ■ I A ■■ .. .v, • . ’ v " 1 ifc isKF V ...< Og . t 'll . I ■ il a ■ tifik ' 1 ? -. X-,.. > , z ;<y y ; , ,■ : 1: . ,< -M • ' TT.S ■ fl : v' ?; ’ w- *I T 11 * I ■ / ■ > ; / ’Wrt FWF W W aS .T ■ - w $ " £, v iOtftea Br# —1 . - Tii 1 w Ms®” W I '♦ X il■ ■ 9 E'/ I- WJ alßr I " JKf ■4 ■ / * "* •