"That wasn't the reason," said Gilderman. "It's a deuced pretty state of affairs, anyhow," said Tilghman, "if the bishop isn't fit to decide who's fit to belong to the Church and who's not fit. If the bishop isn't able to decide, who is able to decide? Ain't that so, Gildy?" "I don't know," said Gilderman. They were coming nearer and nearer to Brookfield. The scattered frame houses, some of them pretentiously villa-like, grew more and more frequent. Here and there were newly projected streets sliced out across the fields. "You get the first view of the house just beyond here," said Mrs. De Witt. Gilderman leaned forward to look out of the window in the direction she had indicated. The train was passing through a railroad cut through the side of a little hill. As it swept rapidly out from the cut Gilderman saw the distant slope of the hill, scattered over with clumps of trees and bushes. In a thicker cluster of trees at the top of the rise he could see the white gables and the long façade of the house, with a glimpse of the conservatories behind it. As he stooped forward, looking, a thicker cluster of frame houses arose and shut out the view. The engine whistled hoarsely. Tom De Witt was folding up his newspaper. The train began to slacken its speed and there was a general bustle of preparation. De Witt's man came in the car and held his top-coat for him while he slipped into it. Then he helped Gilderman and then Sam Tilghman. As Gilderman settled himself into his overcoat and took out his gloves, he could see through the window the quick-passing glimpse of streets and thicker and thicker cluster of houses. Now there would be an open field-like lot and then more houses. There were everywhere groups of people. They looked up at the train as it rushed past with a gradually decreasing speed. There was a shrieking of the brakes and a shuddering of the train as it rapidly approached the station. "This is Brookfield," said the negro porter, as he flung open the door with a crash. With a final shudder and strain, the train stopped in front of a somewhat elaborately artistic station, the platform of which was filled with a restless throng of people. "Oh, what a horrid crowd!" said Bertha De Witt. "I suppose it's got something to do with that Man we hear so much about," said Miss De Witt. "You can't help that," said Tom De Witt. "They have a right to go where they please, and to crowd as they choose, and so you must just put up with it." The colored porter placed a carpet-covered step for them, and helped the ladies officiously down to the platform. He touched his hat and bowed elaborately as Gilderman gave him a dollar. The crowd stared at them as the party descended from the coach. De Witt's man made a way for them through the throng, and they followed after him across the platform and through the station and out upon another covered platform beyond. "Fetch up the traps as quick as you can, Simpkins," said Tom De Witt.