A flock of sparrows came swooping down through the wintry silence with much chatter, and at the same time there came scudding across the street a little Italian newsboy as shrill and brown as the birds. The Bishop bought a paper, and made the youngster’s smile flash as he paused for a few words in his own tongue. Presently, as he went on, the newspaper dropped from the Bishop’s fingers, as he fell to thinking of that alien colony down below there, where the river curved, Westbury’s strangers. They had come so recently, the factories had sprung up so quickly, that the workers were still the strangers. It is true that the Bishop was well known to those teeming streets as the old man who spoke Italian and who loved babies, but he felt that he had done nothing for these others, really. Eighty years! How barren of accomplishment they looked beneath the searchlight of Christmas! But perhaps there was still time! His step quickened. As the Bishop passed beneath the shadow of St. John’s church, the chimes clanged forth the ten o’clock hour. He glanced toward the door, thinking how calm and gentle and familiar everything was within. After all, his headache had melted away and nothing was to prevent his presence by the altar on this morning. The quiet of the chancel was restful to his fancy, lying beyond the visit immediately before him. As he turned up the Rectory steps, tugging slightly on the handrail, the door was flung open, and a tall boy came hurrying out. His thin, fine face was set and black, but a smile played across its frown when he saw the Bishop. “Good morning, Harry,” said the visitor, “and good Christmas.” “There’ll be no good Christmas here,” answered the low taut voice, “unless you’ve brought it, Bishop!” “No trouble here to-day, I hope?” “Trouble every day, now!” Then remembering dignity, Harry shut his lips, adding more calmly, “Father is not well this morning, Bishop. I am just going out to tell Mr. Edgerton that he does not feel able to be at church.” “I am very sorry.” “I’m sorry, too,--sorry for mother and Lois! I am glad you’ve come. It will do them good to see you.” “And may I see your father, too?” “I think so, if you wish it. I shouldn’t wish it!” Harry murmured darkly, as he turned about to unlock the door he had slammed, calling in a low note of warning to his mother, and then leaving the Bishop with her in the drawing-room. The shades had been pulled down, the holly wreaths looked dull. A little mouse of a girl came out of a shadowy corner, and the mother’s arm went about the child’s shoulders as the two greeted the Bishop. They both had thin dark faces and intense brown eyes. The girl’s hair was dusky and the mother’s silver, above a forehead worn but unwrinkled. The girl’s dress was white and the mother’s clinging gray, and both wore sprays of blood-red holly. “Christmas joy to you both,” smiled the Bishop.