By this time Bowers, another local appointment, was the legal representative of the Company, and the repository of great intentions which he guarded with scrupulous fidelity. Clark was redeeming his promise not to import that which the town could provide. And then he met the bishop. He saw the broad-shouldered, black-coated figure contemplating a steam shovel that was gnawing at the rocky soil beside the rapids. The bishop was a big man with a handsome head, well shaped legs adorned with episcopal gaiters, and a broad, deep chest. It was universally admitted that a less ample breast could not have contained so great a heart. "Good day, sir." Clark involuntarily lifted his hat. The bishop held out a firm white hand. "I've heard of you, Mr. Clark, and am glad to see that Mahomet has come to his mountain. It's a little like a fairy tale to me." "I hope it may prove as attractive." "But I believe in fairies, we need them nowadays." Clark smiled. "I'm afraid that St. Marys doesn't believe in them as yet, but I'll do what I can." "I suppose you've met every one here in the course of the winter?" "Most I think. As a matter of fact one hasn't much time." "That's a new thing in winter in the North. Now show me what's going on, I'm vastly interested." There was nothing that could have suited Clark better, and the two tramped about for an hour. At the end of it they stood near the head of the rapids and watched a coughing dredge tear into the soft bottom. "I used to come up here to fish," said the bishop thoughtfully, "and once killed a six pound trout on a six ounce rod, but now you're doing the fishing, and so it goes. Do you expect to begin operations in the woods next winter?" "Yes." "Then I'll need some more missionaries. You're making a lot of work for me, but I like it." His companion glanced up with sudden interest. They both liked work. It had been evident for an hour past in the prelate's keen questions. It occurred to Clark that the influence of his own passion for creation promised to affect a large number of people. But he had never dreamed of missionaries, and now the thought amused him. "I see young Belding over there," said the bishop as the engineer passed with a transit over his shoulder. "Yes, my chief engineer." "A good chap and I'm glad he has the opening. I don't know that he's got much imagination, but a valuable man as I see him. I have an idea," he added quizzically, "that you will supply all the imagination that is necessary." Clark laughed. "I hope to." "Had I not gone into the church I would have been a writer or an engineer," said the bishop slowly. "They have always seemed kindred pursuits, and I should have liked to be able to point to something physical and concrete and say 'I made it.'" Clark was a little puzzled. He had it in mind that the bishop's achievements would be, perhaps, more enduring than his own. He tried to put this into words.