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 know that I'm being hounded into the thing just the the way you were then you're blind."

"I'm not," said his father. "I know. But I thought it polite to ask."

"I'm no more fitted to be a preacher," said Mark, "than young Edward is fitted to train lions. And I no more want to be a saint than I want to be a devil."

"What do you want to be?"

"A farmer." A look of real surprise came into Mr. Eaton's face. Mark laughed. "I mentioned it to mother once, years ago. She didn't like the idea. She didn't think that it was 'quite nice' for a clergyman's son to go into farming. So I never said anything more about it—just for the sake of peace. . . If I had a choice I'd go West and farm. But mother is set on this church business, and you know how she is."

"For the sake of an argument," said the Reverend Mr. Eaton, "I will admit that I do. And I know that when an irresistible force bumps up against a mere man . . . But don't let us discuss your mother . . . She doesn't interfere much with John."

The poison slowly settled into Mark's mind.

"No," he said, "not with John . . . He is too far off."

"Exactly," said Mr. Eaton. He rose and