r developing natural resources, that's
all."

The bishop shook his head. "Not quite: it's a great drama you're
enacting up there, with the rapids for a setting. They run through it
all, don't they?--the changeless, elemental background before which man
climbs up on the stage, makes his bow, enacts his part and gives place
to some one else. You are sending out multitudes of influences that
will never be determined or traced to their result. You once told me
that it all began when you overheard a conversation in a train."

"Yes," Clark paused, then added with a laugh, "an example of the
importance of small things. You've made your point, bishop."

"Thank you, but I've never been able to decide whether a thing is small
or not. Some of the things that you and I prize very highly may
actually be of small account."

For a while Clark did not answer. Ever since coming on board the
Evangeline he had been conscious of a new atmosphere, tenanted by the
spirit of her master, and of a new language which, though its tones
were familiar, seemed to be the vehicle of a novel wisdom and
understanding. He was impressed with the utter candor of his host, but
chiefly with his superlative sympathy with all men. The visitor fell
under the influence of a benign nature which, intensely human in all
its attributes, proffered its solace to all alike. It was, he
concluded, the life function of the bishop to give himself in royal
abandonment.

He did not often put himself in the place of other men, but that night,
after the Evangeline had slid into a moon spilt harbor amongst the
hills, and the bishop explained that he had come here because poor
people were apt to overtax themselves in entertaining, the visitor lay
on the cock pit cushions and stared long at the starry sky. Nothing
important was to be attached to this trip, and yet he felt it to be
momentous. He knew he would always remember it, and that the memory
would hereafter assert itself in unexpected moments. He admitted being
influenced by the bishop and yet felt equipped for all that he had to
do without any such influence. But there crept over him the slow
conception that life might unexpectedly change, and that under hitherto
unimagined conditions he might turn to these hours for the comfort of
remembrance.

Three more days of missionary work and the Evangeline turned homeward,
Clark took the wheel for an hour, with the bishop beside him.

"I hope," said the latt