have a jewel to wear to-night," he
said musingly, and muttered of the splendid jewel that he had forgotten
to bring, given to him years before by the Grand Lodge. By this time the
hour of service had come; the aproned Masons had marched to their seats
in the nave of the church, and all available space was thronged by an
expectant congregation. Nevertheless Dr. Lord requested the rector to go
forth from the sacristy, and ask the master of the Lodge whether any of
the brethren present had a jewel to lend for the occasion. This was
done, but no jewel was forthcoming. The Bishop seemed absorbed in his
own thoughts.

The choir and clergy entered the chancel, and the service began. Dr.
Lord had a seat of honor in the sanctuary at the right of the altar.
When evensong was finished, Bishop Potter preached the sermon, after
which he returned to the sanctuary, and stood at the left of the altar
opposite to Dr. Lord. Just before the benediction, which Dr. Lord was to
pronounce, the Bishop caught the rector's eye, and beckoned. When the
rector came near, the Bishop removed the Masonic jewel, with its chain,
and handed it to him.

"Put it around the old man's neck," the Bishop whispered.

This was done, and the venerable clergyman, decorated with the flashing
symbol, seemed to grow in stature beyond his usual great height, as he
ascended the steps of the altar, where he uplifted his hands, and in an
age-worn but magnificent and sonorous voice pronounced the solemn
blessing.

In the early autumn of 1904 the Rt. Hon. and Most Rev. Dr. Randall T.
Davidson, Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of all England, the first
occupant of the chair of St. Augustine to visit America, was a guest at
Fernleigh. The Archbishop and Mrs. Davidson, with the Archbishop's two
chaplains, were met at the station by Bishop Potter together with a
delegation of Cooperstown citizens. The first carriage that left the
station contained the English and American bishops; the second carried
the two chaplains, escorted by the village rector. As this carriage left
the station, David H. Gregory, the perennial wit of the summer colony,
called out,

"Don't forget to show the gentlemen the Indian in the Cooper Grounds."

The chaplains of the Archbishop exchanged glances of pleased
anticipation. What they had heard suggested that Cooperstown kept a live
Indian on view as a symbol of its history and romance, just as Rome
maintains always its pair of wolves at the