"Will you please throw me up that trowel, sir?"

The bishop laughed and the trowel gyrated skywards. "It makes me think
of all that goes into the making of a church nowadays," he said
thoughtfully. "By the way I wonder if my friend Mr. Clark will turn up
next Sunday."

And Clark, to every one's surprise, did turn up, after most of St.
Marys had seated themselves in the new oak pews. There was Dibbott, in
carefully pressed light gray trousers, white waistcoat and a red flower
in his buttonhole; Mrs. Dibbott in spotless linen, for the day was
warm. Then the Bowers, the husband with his metropolitan manner
acquired on frequent business trips to Philadelphia and converse with
city capitalists, his wife in silk and a New York hat, at which Mrs.
Dibbott glanced with somewhat startled eyes. Things had gone well with
the Bowers. There were the Wordens, with Elsie and Belding, the latter
accepting whispered congratulations on his work but wanting only a look
which he could not draw from the girl beside him. Filmer was there,
his black whiskers unusually glossy. He pulled at them caressingly and
now and again cleared his throat, for he was to sing the tenor solo.
At the door, Manson hung about till old Dibbott, glaring amiably down
the isle, marched out and dragged the chief constable and his wife to a
front seat. And last of all came Clark, who, slipping into a back
corner, refused to move. Then the old bell ceased swinging in the new
stone tower and the service began.

It was all very simple and touching. Filmer's melodious tenor never
sounded better and the bishop's talk was straight to the point. This
pro-cathedral, built out of love and faith, he told them, linked the
old days with the new. The labor of many, freely given, had gone into
it--here his kindly gaze dwelt for an instant on the gray-coated figure
in the corner--and it augured well for the future. From this building
must spread the doctrine of charity and fellowship and courage.

It was but for a few moments that he spoke, and when it was all over
the old bell rang joyously as though for a wedding. Belding tried to
catch Elsie's glance, but she only flushed and watched the majestic
figure of the bishop retire into the little vestry. He had a
despondent impression that an impalpable barrier lay between them. On
the way out they met Clark and the girl's eyes brightened miraculously.

"Isn't it a charming church?" she said.

Clark nodded. "I