"I wish we could all of us get hold of the larger charity," he said earnestly. "When I spoke at the Lord Mayor’s table, I confess to you I did not quite know all that there was in my words. I gave rein to ideas I had never allowed to have expression, even in my thoughts, before. The fairies--we put it all down to them, don’t we?--the fairies must have made me speak as I did. That was a strange night. Reform was in the wine-cups. We built Quixotic dreams, and pledged ourselves to abide by them. Well, I won’t repine. I am heartily glad I spoke as I did. You remind me of the obligations which fall upon every responsible religious man. I will try harder to live up to the ideals. Never again will I, by thought or implication, judge or condemn the honest opinions of others; but will believe that all in some measure or degree are pushing forward God’s progress. Our differences, at their greatest, are trivial; in much of our work we should unite." They shook hands, confirming the pledge. The clock sang six-thirty. "How the time has flown!" cried the Archdeacon, glad to be out of a scene. "Will you excuse me? I must hurry and dress. I dine at eight with the Duchess of Armingham. I was going to say such a great deal to you about cemeteries. But another time! So glad to have seen you. Good-bye!" Oldstein went. Good-bye to him also, so far as this historical work is concerned! June decided to accompany her ecclesiastic to the Duchess’s table. She had seen the under side, now for the over side of human life. Sing Hey! for the _haut ton!_ as a suburban poet would put it. She sailed upstairs to the dressing-room and helped. Never before had razor shaved so smoothly, or valet been so perfect a machine. When the Archdeacon drove westward, he was in the happiest condition of mind. He had become the compleat optimist. Everything was for the best in this best of all possible worlds. The dear fairies! *CHAPTER XII* *A NIGHT OUT* Gnomes are notoriously irresponsible; but town-life and a high purpose had brought changes to Bim. He crawled under the dark green gate which bounded the carriage-drive, and strode into the world with something of that air of responsibility which hedges the dignity of a newly-elected alderman. Bim had no illusions as to his present capacity. June’s wand made him a power, and he knew it. He was able to control mortals; and confidently promised himself happenings. He wandered through streets and passages, indifferent and ignorant as to where they should lead him, indeterminate as to what he should do. He saw a hansom crawling. This would help as well as anything. Imitating June’s action on the night of the banquet, he waved the wand, and by elfin will-power compelled the cabman to rein in his drowsy steed.