"The Reverend Paul Stoddard, sir."
The chaplain of St. Agatha's was a big fellow, as I
had remarked on the occasion of his interview with
Olivia Gladys Armstrong by the wall. His light brown
hair was close-cut; his smooth-shaven face was bright
with the freshness of youth. Here was a sturdy young
apostle without frills, but with a vigorous grip that left
my hand tingling. His voice was deep and musical,-a
voice that suggested sincerity and inspired confidence.
"I'm afraid I haven't been neighborly, Mr. Glenarm.
I was called away from home a few days after I heard
of your arrival, and I have just got back. I blew in
yesterday with the snow-storm."
He folded his arms easily and looked at me with
cheerful directness, as though politely interested in what
manner of man I might be.
"It was a fine storm; I got a great day out of it," I
said. "An Indiana snow-storm is something I have
never experienced before."
"This is my second winter. I came out here because
I wished to do some reading, and thought I'd rather do
it alone than in a university."
"Studious habits are rather forced on one out here,
I should say. In my own case my course of reading
is all cut out for me."
He ran his eyes over the room.
"The Glenarm collection is famous,-the best in the
country, easily. Mr. Glenarm, your grandfather, was
certainly an enthusiast. I met him several times; he
was a trifle hard to meet,"-and the clergyman smiled.
I felt rather uncomfortable, assuming that he probably
knew I was undergoing discipline, and why my
grandfather had so ordained it. The Reverend Paul
Stoddard was so simple, unaffected and manly a fellow
that I shrank from the thought that I must appear to
him an ungrateful blackguard whom my grandfather
had marked with obloquy.
"My grandfather had his whims; but he was a fine,
generous-hearted old gentleman," I said.
"Yes; in my few interviews with him he surprised
me by the range of his knowledge. He was quite able
to instruct me in certain curious branches of church
history that had appealed to him."
"You were here when he built the house, I suppose?"
My visitor laughed cheerfully.
"I was on my side of the barricade for a part of the
time. You know there was a great deal of mystery
about the building of this house. The country-folk
hereabouts can't quite get over it. They have a superstition
that there's treasure buried somewhere on the
place. You see, Mr. Glenarm wouldn't employ any local
labor. The work was done by men he brought from
afar,-none of them, the villagers say, could speak English.
They were all Greeks or Italians."
"I have heard something of the kind," I remarked,
feeling that here was a man who with a little cultivating
might help me to solve some of my riddles.