His deep voice, magnificent frame, and bold and free address so gave the lie to the humility of his words that I had much ado to keep from laughing. He saw, and his face, which was of a cast most martial, flashed into a smile, like sunshine on a scarred cliff.

“You laugh in your sleeve,” he said good-humoredly, “and yet I am but what I profess to be. In spirit I am a very Job, though nature hath fit to dress me as a Samson. I assure you, I am worse misfitted than is Master Yardstick yonder in those Falstaffian hose. But, good sir, will you not go to church?”

“If the church were Paul’s, I might,” I answered. “As it is, we could not get within fifty feet of the door.”

“Of the great door, ay, but