.

"With Mr. Bentley," he repeated, smiling, and meeting her eyes, "I have
been learning something about the actual conditions of life in a modern
city."

She bent a little toward him in one of those spontaneous movements that
characterized her.

"Tell me--what is his life?" she asked. "I have seen so little of it,
and he has told me nothing himself. At first, in the Park, I saw only
a kindly old gentleman, with a wonderful, restful personality, who had
been a dear friend of my mother's. I didn't connect those boys with him.
But since then--since I have been here twice, I have seen other things
which make me wonder how far his influence extends." She paused.

"I, too, have wondered," said the rector, thoughtfully. "When I met
him, I supposed he were merely living in simple relationships with his
neighbours here in Dalton Street, but by degrees I have discovered that
his relationships are as wide as the city itself. And they have grown
naturally--by radiation, as it were. One incident has led to another,
one act of kindness to another, until now there seems literally no end
to the men and women with whom he is in personal touch, who are ready to
do anything in their power for him at any time. It is an institution,
in fact, wholly unorganized, which in the final analysis is one man. And
there is in it absolutely nothing of that element which has come to be
known as charity."

Alison listened with parted lips.

"To give you an example," he went on, gradually be coming fired by his
subject, by her absorption, "since you have mentioned Mrs. Garvin, I
will tell you what happened in that case. It is typical of many. It was
a question of taking care of this woman, who was worn out and crushed,
until she should recover sufficiently to take care of herself. Mr.
Bentley did not need any assistance from me to get the boy into the
hospital--Dr. Jarvis worships him. But the mother. I might possibly have
got her into an institutional home--Mr. Bentley did better than that,
far better. On the day of the funeral we went directly from the cemetery
to the house of a widow who owns a little fruit farm beyond the Park.
Her name is Bledsoe, and it is not an exaggeration to say that her
house, small as it is, contains an endowed room always at Mr. Bentley's
disposal.

"Mrs. Garvin is there now. She was received as a friend, as a guest--not
as an inmate, a recipient of charity. I shall never forget how that
woman ran out in the sun wh