He swung his stick excitedly in the darkness, while he gave his arm to Mr. Valley to help him along. He felt as though he were entering upon some desperate, invisible struggle to safeguard everything that was sacred to him against modern inventions. “It’s queer,” he thought to himself, “what the sight of that grey feather in the book, and that old woman with the candle, have done to my mind. I’ve made love to the limit; I’ve brawled in a tavern to the limit; and here I am, with a tipsy priest on my arm, thinking of nothing but defending I don’t know what against motorcars and aeroplanes!”