and that he lived well enough--but his coat was threadbare and his
shoes were sadly patched. There was a brightness in his eyes too, and
a flush on his cheek that I did not quite like. I asked him of his
work and he told me that he was hopeful--told me of the little repairs
he had made, of a soul won back, but in the conversation I actually
stole the sad tale of his poverty from him. Yet he made no complaint
and went back cheerfully to Alta.

"The next month he came again, but this time he told me of the dire
need of aid, not for himself, but for his church. The people, he said,
were poor pioneers, and in the comfortless and ugly old church they
were losing their grip on religion. The young people were falling away
very fast. All around were well ordered and beautiful sectarian
churches. He could see the effect, not visible to less interested eyes
but very plain to his. He feared that another generation would be lost
and he asked me if there was any possibility of securing temporary aid
such as the sects had for their building work. I had to tell him that
nothing could be done. I told him of the poverty of my own Diocese,
and that, while his was a poor place, there were others approaching
it. In my heart I knew there was something sadly lacking in our
national work for the Church, but I could do nothing myself. He wrote
to his own State for help, but the letters were unanswered. Except for
the few stipends I could give him and which he devoted to his work, it
was impossible to do anything. He was brave and never faltered though
the eyes in him shone brighter and in places his coat was worn
through. A few days later I received a letter from his bishop asking
how he did and saying that he would appoint him to an excellent parish
if he would return home willingly. I sent the letter to Alta with a
little note of my own, congratulating him on his changed condition. He
returned the letter to me with a few lines saying: 'I can not go. If I