“It was at any rate not for my own sake that I refused to have an assistant,” the Bishop went on. “If I could have trusted the choice of my clergy! It is easy and natural, to choose the most popular, the most prominent. A bishop’s diocese is dearer than perhaps any one of his clergy can understand. It is my little piece of God’s world, it is my Westbury in large. “And my ways are the old ways. My assistant’s might have been the new.” He paused a moment chin on hand, then looked up quickly, “What are the new ways?” he asked. “For I suppose my successor will introduce them.” Newbold warmed instantly, moistening his twitching lips, “The ways first of all of economical administration. The church must show itself a good business if we want business men to respect it.” “Do we?” “Do we _not_?” Nervous lightnings leaped to Newbold’s eyes. “These are not days of sentimental idealism, of faiths that float in air. To-day a man wants to see his money’s worth in the church as well as out of it. The church,” he brought a tense fist down upon the cushion, “has become a business proposition!” The Bishop’s face was intent on Newbold, yet inward and remote. Then the blue eyes smiled, “Oh, but not in Westbury!” he pleaded. “We are not money-mad in Westbury!” “Because you have so much money! Have always had! Yet the purse-strings are the heart-strings in Westbury as elsewhere. Instance my vestry and the Southside Mission. Closed, three weeks ago. Westbury is wealthy but not wasteful. The mission was unsuccessful, therefore to be eliminated from the items of our expenditure. The need of St. John’s, economical organization, is merely an example of the needs of the diocese, and of the church at large.” “I think I was not, was I, officially told of the action of the church, in closing the mission?” The Rector stirred uneasily, then looked up with boyish directness, “I was remiss, Bishop, and I acknowledge it. But I knew the matter would need full explanation for you, and to be frank, I’ve postponed a good many things of late, simply because I felt paralysed before them. I’m all out of sorts, not myself at all. I can’t tell what’s the matter with me.” The Bishop, noting the sudden hysterical flabbiness of the whole face, recalled the man to firm thought. “The mission is permanently closed, then? That seems to me sad news for Christmas morning.” “Believe me, Bishop, I understand your feeling about it. I, too, regret the closing of the mission. I’ve positively enjoyed my work down there.” “I should think that you might have found the mission work almost restful after the other sort.” “It was restful. Strangely! They speak out down there, act out, too. The Southside caused me no night-long guessing, like my neighbors here. Yet I had no time for the mission, and lately no money either, for the work has become unpopular, quite naturally.” “Naturally?”