As soon as he had pronounced the benediction he looked toward the corner
again, but the school-master had already left the room. Usually he waited
until the others were gone and the two men walked homeward together,
discussing the sermon.
To-day the others slowly scattered, and the parson sat alone at the tipper
end of the room disappointed and troubled.
John strode up to the door.
"Are you ready?" he asked in a curt unnatural voice.
"Ah!" The parson sprang up gladly. "I was hoping you'd come!"
They started slowly off along the path, John walking unconsciously in it,
the parson stumbling along through the grass and weeds on one side. It had
been John's unvarying wont to yield the path to him.
"It is easy to preach," he muttered with gloomy, sarcastic emphasis.
"If you tried it once, you might think it easier to practise," retorted the
parson, laughing.
"It might be easier to one who is not tempted."
"It might be easier to one who is. No man is tempted beyond his strength,
but a sermon is often beyond his powers. I let you know, young man, that a
homily may come harder than a virtue."
"How can you stand up and preach as you've been preaching, and then come out
of the church and laugh about it!" cried John angrily.
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