“It has not changed, Lucy?” “Oh, no, no, Henry,” she comforted him, “How? Where? Look about and see!” “Once it sent more men forth into the church than any other place in all the country. Will it, do you believe, continue to do that?” “Westbury is still churchly! Look at us! Westbury still goes to church. I myself set the example.” “Westbury always has followed your example,” the Bishop answered; again he felt a start of hope, but still postponed in this pleasant lighter hour the full revelation of his morning’s anxiety. “Westbury will always follow my example, Henry, just so long as I give it its head. It is a triumph, is it not,” her lips puckered whimsically, “for an old lady to lead a town by a string? If I cared for the triumph! Not to let Westbury get away from me, that has been at least an absorbing pastime. I have spent my life trying to keep Westbury the Westbury of my youth!” Quizzical, darting gleams showed in her eyes. “There was no more beautiful way to spend your life,” the Bishop answered. Lucy’s face changed, old age dropped over it like a veil, from which her eyes looked forth, strange. “I, too,” the Bishop answered, “have wished to spend my life in keeping Westbury the Westbury of my youth. It seemed so beautiful to me! People were already beginning to be in a hurry in other places, but they still had time to be kind, here. They were already locking themselves into classes in other places, but they still had time to be friends, rich with poor, rich with rich, here. You remember the mission, Lucy?” She started, glancing at him with quick, culprit look, which he, lost in dreams, did not observe, continuing, “Westbury was a place of beautiful friendship, a place to make a young man dream dreams.” Very low she whispered, “Your dreams, Henry, not Westbury’s!” “It has not changed, has it, Lucy?” She did not answer at first, then a smile, elusive, sweet, brushed her lips and was gone, “No, Henry!” “For how could it,” he burst out joyously, “how could it, when you have not changed, and you are Westbury!” “I am Westbury?” “Yes!” he answered, “yes!” “Have you always thought that, Henry?” “I believe so, yes.” But beneath his clear, smiling gaze, the witch lights gleamed in her eyes, “I wonder if you will always think so, Henry!” But his words seemed to have made her inattentive, restless, so that it was at length almost abruptly that she rose. She turned an instant toward the picture framed by the window. “How you love this town, Henry!” “It is my piece of God’s world,” he answered with that simple reverence that could startle, then he stopped before turning away from the table, “May I?” he asked permission, as he picked up a sprig of holly. “We’ve had none at the house, and you remember how Annie loved holly.” “Yes,” Lucy answered, “I remember--Annie’s holly.”