Belding laughed. He, like the rest, knew that the largest church in the country could not hold those who flocked to hear this golden voice. "How much money is available?" he hazarded, "and have you any idea what it is intended to spend. What about plans?" "That's just it, we have no money and, of course, no plans, but, considering the amount of building material you use every day, it struck me that there might be laid aside enough to construct what I want without causing any hardship." Belding hesitated, but so friendly was the look on the bishop's face and so quizzical the glance of the large brown eyes that he felt immediately prompted to build a pro-cathedral. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "History has it that not so very long ago a certain young engineer expressed that which was highest in his nature by building a cathedral. Think it over." And with that the bishop turned to the Indian agent who was moving mountainously across the lawn. "Well, Mr. Dibbott, it seems just the other day when I arrived first in St. Marys and drove under a green arch at Mr. Filmer's dock and the entire population met me. One couldn't achieve that now. Great things are happening." "You mean up at the works, sir?" "Yes. I went over them again last week and had a short talk with Mr. Clark--a very remarkable man--though, I confess that so far I have not observed him at church. I touched on that as a matter of fact." Dibbott's pale blue eyes opened a little wider. "And what did he say?" "He said that from his point of view the church was too divided within itself to impress him very forcibly." "Ah!" grunted Dibbott--"and then?" "I came back at him with the fact that the church was naturally divided by the moods of its followers." "It's so, sir, we all know it." The bishop cast an interested glance over the groups that now covered the lawn. He seemed not in the least depressed at the inward troubles of the church. Presently his eyes began to twinkle. "It's perfectly true. There are three schools of thought, that I've observed myself." "What are they?" said Worden, who had silently come up. "Platitudinarian; latitudinarian; attitudinarian," came the answer, with a chuckle, then, turning to Filmer, who had stepped over to hear the joke, he added, "What do you think of my boat?" and pointed to a slim, black, two-masted steam-yacht that lay anchored just off the shore. It was common knowledge that the bishop had spent part of a winter abroad collecting funds, and it was further admitted that it was impossible for him to visit the multitude of islands that lay in his charge without some independent means of transportation, but St. Marys was not yet aware that the trick had been turned.