. Clark looked at him, a lean, overworked man, with
rusty clothes and joy in his face, and remembered for the first time in
his life that here was one fashioned in all ways like unto himself.

"I'm off into the country to visit for a few hours," said the bishop,
introducing him. "You can come if you like, but it's not a good road,
and I would advise you to stay where you are. Joe will take you
fishing and there is plenty to read in the bookshelf. I can recommend
Henry Drummond or Marcus Aurelius. Good-by!"

He drove off in a rattling buckboard, and the woods swallowed him. A
little crowd had gathered in the dock, glancing after the bishop and
then down at the slender deck of the Evangeline. The stranger looked
up at them, nodded and disappeared. Presently Joe stretched an awning
over the long boom of the main mast, and Clark sat in the shade
listening to the silence and surveying this isolated village. What, he
wondered, could keep people in so forgotten a community, with its
unpaved street, its straggling wooden houses, its background of
unbroken bush. There was no water power, no big timber, and, from the
look of the country, no mineral. He put the thought out of his mind
with luxurious deliberation and tried to decipher why a man like the
bishop should waste his time here when, without doubt, he could be a
shining light in a great city. After a little the reason became clear,
and, smiling to himself, he reached up for Marcus Aurelius.

They supped that night at the parsonage, where they yielded to the
stark simplicity of new surroundings. The parson with his wife and
children regarded the bishop with their eyes in which love and
reverence were clearly mingled. At the stranger they looked a little
insecurely, for the bishop had, that afternoon, told who he was. They
had heard of him already, and in this remote village his person had
been invested with mysterious powers. He was a force of which they
read, rather than a living, breathing man, so that however he might try
to talk affably and communicably, he found himself hedged about with a
spiny growth of fame that the others made but little attempt to
penetrate. His garment of authority and influence was too great. He
was too big and didn't fit.

Later came service in the bare, wooden church, and for the second time
he saw the prelate in robes of office. The sun was setting and its
level beams filled the tiny edifice with a softened glow. Overhe