o all the way north and east by
Malone and Rouses Point and then south and west again into the
mountains. The mountain was set in almost the geographical centre of
his diocese and he had travelled towards it from north, east, south
and west.

He missed his mountain now and rubbed his eyes in a troubled,
perplexed way. When the train stopped at the next little station he
went out on the platform for a clearer, steadier view.

Again he rubbed his eyes. The clear gap between the hills where he
knew Old Forge nestled was gone. The open rift of sky that he had
recognised a few moments before was now filled, as though a mountain
had suddenly been moved into the gap. He went back to his seat and
sat watching the line of the mountains. As he watched, the whole
contour of the hills that he had known was changed under his very
eyes. Peaks rose where never were peaks before, and rounded, smooth
skulls of mountains showed against the sky where sharp peaks should
have been.

He looked once more, and a sharp, swift suspicion shot into his mind,
and stayed. Then a just and terrible anger rose up in the soul of
Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden, for he was a man of gentle heart
whose passions ran deep below a placid surface.

At Booneville he stepped off the train before it had stopped and
hurried to the operator's window to ask if any news had gone down the
wire of a fire in the hills.

Jerry Hogan, the operator, sat humped up over his table "listening in"
with shameless glee to a flirtatious conversation that was going over
the wire, contrary to all rules and regulations of the Company,
between the young lady operator at Snowden and the man in the office
at Steuben.

The Bishop asked a hurried, anxious question.

Without looking up, Jerry answered sorrowfully:

"This ain't the bulletin board. We're busy."

The Bishop stood quiet a moment.

Then Jerry looked up. The face looking calmly through the window was
the face of one who had once tapped him on the cheek as a reminder of
certain things.

Jerry fell off his high stool, landing, miraculously, on his feet. He
grabbed at his front lock of curly red hair and gasped:

"I--I'm sorry, Bishop! I--I--didn't hear what you said."

The Bishop--if one might say it--grinned. Then he said quickly:

"I thought I saw signs of fire in the hills. Have you heard anything
on the wire?"

Jerry had seen the wrinkles around the Bishop's mouth. The beet red
colour of his face had gone