"You'll be here to-night?" he questioned. She shook her head. "That's why I've come this afternoon." "When are we going to meet then? I do so want to talk to you. Cambridge is wonderful, Edith. There's heaps to say. I don't know why, but I want to tell you things." He couldn't know that she had to make a little effort to steady her voice. "Do you, Paul," she said. "That's awfully good of you." He studied her a minute, thinking rapidly. "Tell me what you're doing this week," he demanded. "Oh, the usual things. Band of Hope, a committee Thursday, prayer meeting Friday, and Saturday, some cousins of ours are coming over." "Sunday?" "You silly! You know as well as I do!" Paul reflected. He would have to call for Madeline for the children's service. Afternoon Sunday school--no good, he knew. Evening, his mother would be going down to the Mission Hall. He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Monday?" he queried. She smiled. "Monday's the first night of carol singing," she said. "No!" he cried eagerly. "I'll come. What time do you start?" "You know you _never_ come," she said laughing. "Have you learned to sing so much better at Cambridge?" A little thrill of pleasure at her laughter ran through him. "You shall hear," he said. "I shall be there. And when we've finished, I shall see you home." "I half promised Mr. Vintner," she said, "but perhaps---- There's mother looking for me. I must go." And Paul, alone, could not get Albert Vintner out of his mind while he discoursed of the University to his father's senior churchwarden. Mrs. Kestern left before the conclusion of the proceedings, and Paul stood by the table alone, watching his father, Mr. Derrick and a warden make neat piles of silver and gold, enter totals on slips of paper and finally arrive at the exact figure taken. Conversation among the waiting onlookers died down while the final immense calculation was being made, and it was in a solemn silence that at last Mr. Kestern stood erect, beaming and triumphant, to announce that the result exceeded by five pounds, seven and fourpence the previous year's figure, and to say that he thanked all who had in any way assisted at this magnificent result with all his heart. They would now join in singing the Doxology. Madeline went to the piano; "Thank God from whom all blessings flow," they sang. Paul joined in heartily, but a little self-consciously. It was odd, but the familiar words did not come as naturally as they had used to do. Five pounds, seven and fourpence! But his father was a saint, Paul thought, as he looked at him. (4) Paul, Mr. Kestern and Miss Bishop walked home together, the latter a great friend of the Church. She was angular, tall, a little caustic and an able speaker, and she had a great reputation for knowledge. She felt deeply and expressed herself strongly. Paul liked her immensely.