preach. They say you ain't a bit afraid to give the devil his due, so far as the rich is concerned."
"I try to preach a straight gospel, whether it affects the rich or the poor."
"That's right. If more of 'em would do that the laborin' men might git their rights some day, and a little religion besides."
"You think more of them would come to church?"
"Sure they would. All they want is to have the Church take as much account of the poor as it does of the rich. I'm comin' to hear you preach though, anyway; and I'll bring some of the boys along. Goodbye! I'm goin' up the hill now, with the funeral."
"I'll go with you if I may."
"Glad to have you. Come on."
A sudden desire had seized the clergyman to see the end of this grim, industrial tragedy that had stirred his heart.
The hearse was already half-way up the hill. It was followed by two coaches. Behind the coaches, in orderly procession, marched two hundred toilers; men who had been present at the Bradley house and had heard Lamar's speech, and who, in the exercise of class consciousness, had been glad, on their day of rest, to march two miles to the cemetery to see the body of their fellow-laborer consigned to earth.
Mr. Farrar and his newly-found friend fell in at the end of the procession, and followed it to the grave.
When Mary Bradley descended from the coach to take her place near the head of the coffin, where it lay, supported by cross-sticks, over the open pit, her eyes fell upon the rector of Christ Church.
One of those sudden impulses that overtake most women in times of stress, regardless of their walk in life, came upon her in that moment, and she acted upon it without further thought.
She turned to one of the bearers, standing near, and requested him to ask the Reverend Mr. Farrar to come
