"It's just this way," and a twinkle shone in the parson's eyes. "Five and
thirty years have I served in the sacred ministry of our Church. During
the whole of that time I have endeavoured to do my duty. I have faced the
devil on many occasions, and trust that in the encounters I did no
discredit to my calling. I have tried never to let him get ahead of me,
and I am very thankful he didn't do it this afternoon with Tim Fraser's
fast horse."
* * * * *
Parson John had won the day, and the group dispersed, chuckling with
delight, and anxious to pass on the yarn to others.
That same evening Mr. Westmore was seated comfortably in Jim Rickhart's
cosy sitting-room. The family gathered around in anticipation of a
pleasant chat, for the rector was a good talker, and his visit was always
an occasion of considerable interest. A few neighbours had dropped in to
hear the news of the parish, and the latest tidings from the world at
large. They had not been seated long ere a loud rap sounded upon the door,
and when it was opened, a man encased in a heavy coat entered.
"Is Parson John here?" were his first words.
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