“Just three weeks to Christmas.” He was walking up and down the bare cold room. He halted a few steps in front of the lad. “Do you know what Christmas means to me? You will later on. Bills. Butcher’s bills, baker’s bills, bootmaker’s bills--there’s something uncanny about the number of boots that children seem to want. And then there’s their school bills and their doctor’s bills and the Christmas boxes and the presents. It’s funny when you come to think of it. Christ’s birthday. And I’ve come to dread it. What were we all talking about this afternoon here in the vestry? How to help Christ? How to spread His gospel? No, pew rates, tithes, clergy relief funds, curates’ salaries, gas bills, fund for central heating and general repairs! “How can I preach Christ, the Outcast, the Beggar, the Wanderer in the Wilderness, the Servant of the poor, the Carrier of the Cross? That’s what I started out to preach. They’d only laugh at me. ‘He lives in a big house,’ they would say; ‘keeps four servants’--when one can get them--‘and his sons go to college.’ God knows it’s struggle enough to do it. But I oughtn’t to be struggling to do it. I ought to be down among the people, teaching Christ not only by my words but my life.” It had grown dark. The vicar, stumbling against a small side table, brought it down with a clatter. Anthony found the matches and lit the gas. The vicar held out a plump hand. “It’ll be all right about your uncle,” he said. “See Mr. Grant and arrange things with him.” Anthony thanked him and was leaving. The Reverend Mr. Sheepskin drew him back. “Don’t judge me too hardly,” he said with a smile. “Leastways, not till you’ve lived a bit longer. Something made me talk without thinking. If anything I’ve said comes back to you at any time, listen to it. It may have been a better sermon than I usually preach.” His aunt was much comforted when he told her. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, “if he got through after all. Anyhow, we’ve done our best for him.” Old Simon had returned to the railway carriage. He seemed to know that all was over. He lingered for a little while, but there was no heart in him. And one morning they found him dead. A friendship had grown up between Anthony and young Mowbray. It had been chiefly of Edward Mowbray’s seeking, but Anthony had been attracted by Edward’s gentleness and kindness. Mowbray’s father had also taken a liking to him and he came to be a frequent visitor at The Priory.