like your rector, in spite of his anthropomorphism
--perhaps, as George would say, because of it. There is something manly
about him that appeals to me."

"There," cried Eleanor, triumphantly, "I've always said Mr. Hodder had a
spiritual personality. You feel--you feel there is truth shut up inside
of him which he cannot communicate. I'll tell you who impresses me in
that way more strongly than any one else--Mr. Bentley. And he doesn't
come to church any more."

"Mr. Bentley," said her, mother, "is a saint. Your father tried to get
him to dinner to-day, but he had promised those working girls of his, who
live on the upper floors of his house, to dine with them. One of them
told me so. Of course he will never speak of his kindnesses."

"Mr. Bentley doesn't bother his head about theology," said Sally. "He
just lives."

"There's Eldon Parr," suggested George Bridges, mentioning the name of
the city's famous financier; "I'm told he relieved Mr. Bentley of his
property some twenty-five years ago. If Mr. Hodder should begin to
preach the modern heresy which you desire, Mr Parr might object. He's
very orthodox, I'm told."

"And Mr. Parr," remarked the modern Evelyn, sententiously, "pays the
bills, at St. John's. Doesn't he, father?"

"I fear he pays a large proportion of them," Mr. Waring admitted, in a
serious tone.

"In these days," said Evelyn, "the man who pays the bills is entitled to
have his religion as he likes it."

"No matter how he got the money to pay them," added Phil.

"That suggests another little hitch in the modern church which will have
to be straightened out," said George Bridges.

"'Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye make clean the
outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of
extortion and excess.'"

"Why, George, you of all people quoting the Bible!" Eleanor exclaimed.

"And quoting it aptly, too," said Phil Goodrich.

"I'm afraid if we began on the scribes and Pharisees, we shouldn't stop
with Mr. Parr," Asa Wiring observed, with a touch of sadness.

"In spite of all they say he has done, I can't help feeling sorry for
him," said Mrs. Waring. "He must be so lonely in that huge palace of
his beside the Park, his wife dead, and Preston running wild around the
world, and Alison no comfort. The idea of a girl leaving her father
as she did and going off to New York to become a landscape architect!"

"But, mother," Evelyn pleaded, "I can't see why a