Alleluia had come down from Oxford, and his confiding and childlike look, together with his silky moustache, had led him into the bypaths and hedges and so on and on until he reached the village of Wallbridge.
There were, of course, troubles in even so gentle a young man's path; there were difficulties and doubts—little worries—so that Alleluia's eyes were not always without their tears.
The Wallbridge people were not always so loving as they should be. The Rev. John Sutton, the vicar, disapproved of the preacher's looks and was even slightly contemptuous of the glory hymns. This unkindness hit the young man hard, because, outwardly, the vicar seemed pleased with the work that he was doing.
And there was Lily. Lily had to be considered even by Mr. Tapper, her father, as something female. Mr. Tapper put her down entirely, with her mother included, to the simple fact that he had stayed too long out one lovely June fair day at the Stickland revels. Even that day he saw as all Lily's fault, feeling, truly perhaps, that the child brings her parents together.

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