overflowing
congregation from the text, "This people draweth nigh unto me with their
mouth and honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me."

But a few weeks afterward his face was bright and his voice was cheery,
and he was writing another letter to Glory:

"In full swing at last, Glory. To carry out my new idea I had to get
three thousand pounds more of my mother's money from my uncle. He gave it
up cheerfully, only saying he was curious to see what approach to the
Christian ideal the situation of civilization permitted. But Mrs.
Callender is _dour_, and every time I spend sixpence of my own money on
the Church she utters withering sarcasms about being only a 'daft auld
woman hersel',' and then I have to caress and coax her.

"The newspapers were facetious about my 'Baby Houses' until they scented
the Prime Minister at the back of them, and now they call them the 'Storm
Shelters,' and christen my nightly processions 'The White-cross Army.'
Even the Archdeacon has begun to tell the world how he 'took an interest'
in me from the first and gave me my title. I met him again the other day
at a rich woman's house, where we had only one little spar, and yesterday
he wrote urging me to 'organize my great effort,' and have a public
dinner in honour of its inauguration. I did not think God's work could be
well done by people dining in herds and drinking bottles of champagne,
but I showed no malice. In fact, I agreed to hold a meeting in the lady's
drawing-room, to which clergymen, laymen, and members of all
denominations are being invited, for this is a cause that rises above all
differences of dogma, and I intend to try what can be done toward a union
of Christendom on a social basis. Mrs. Callender is dour on that subject
too, reminding me that where the carcass is there will the eagles be
gathered together. The Archdeacon thinks we must have the meeting before
the twelfth of August, or not until after the middle of September, and
Mrs. Callender understands this to mean that 'the Holy Ghost always goes
to sleep in the grouse season.'

"Meantime my Girls' Club goes like a forest fire. We are in our renovated
clergy-house at last, and have everything comfortable. Two hundred
members already, chiefly dressmakers and tailors, and girls out of the
jam and match factories. The bright, merry young things, rejoicing in
their brief blossoming time between girlhood and womanhood. I love to be
among them and to loo