I thought to myself: how can he know what has happened to me? But then I reflected, perhaps he saw them drive me into the church! I found myself with a sudden, queer impulse to apologize for those soldier boys. “We had some terrible fighting,” I cried. “And you know what wars do--to the minds of the people, I mean.” “Yes,” said the stranger, “I know, only too well.” I had meant to explain this mob; but somehow, I decided that I could not. How could I make him understand moving picture shows, and German competition, and ex-service men out of jobs? There was a pause, and he asked, “Can you stand up?” I tried and found that I could. I felt the side of my jaw, and it hurt, but somehow the pain seemed apart from myself. I could see clearly and steadily; there were only two things wrong that I could find--first, this stranger standing by my side, and second, that hole in the window, where I had seen him standing so many Sunday mornings! “Are you going out now?” he asked. As I hesitated, he added, tactfully, “Perhaps you would let me go with you?” Here was indeed a startling proposition! His costume, his long hair--there were many things about him not adapted to Broadway at five o'clock in the afternoon! But what could I say? It would be rude to call attention to his peculiarities. All I could manage was to stammer: “I thought you belonged in the church.” “Do I?” he replied, with a puzzled look. “I'm not sure. I have been wondering--am I really needed here? And am I not more needed in the world?” “Well,” said I, “there's one thing certain.” I pointed up to the window. “That hole is conspicuous.” “Yes, that is true.” “And if it should rain, the altar would be ruined. The Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray would be dreadfully distressed. That altar cloth was left to the church in the will of Mrs. Elvina de Wiggs, and God knows how many thousands of dollars it cost.” “I suppose that wouldn't do,” said the stranger. “Let us see if we can't find something to put there.” He started up the aisle, and through the chancel. I followed, and we came into the vestry-room, and there on the wall I noticed a full length, life-sized portrait of old Algernon de Wiggs, president of the Empire National Bank, and of the Western City Chamber of Commerce. “Let us see if he would fill the place,” said the stranger; and to my amazement he drew up a chair, and took down the huge picture, and carried it, seemingly without effort, into the church.