I'm agoin' to leave it here till the rent's paid, and we git the money
to take it outen hock."

The bishop's eyes softened, and lost their look of shocked dignity.

"I will advance you the money," he offered. "I would much prefer to do
so than to have it left here. How much money do you need to pay your
rent?"

"We need five dollars," said Amarilly, "to pay the balance of it. But I
wouldn't take it from you. I ain't no beggar. I don't believe, nuther,"
she continued, half to herself, "that Mr. St. John would like it."

"Who is Mr. St. John?" he asked curiously. "I know of no such rector in
this diocese. My child, you have an honest face. Since you won't accept
a gift of money, I will lend, you the amount. I want you to tell me all
about yourself and this surplice."

"Well, mebby he'd want me to," reflected Amarilly.

"Gimme back that surplus," she said to the Jew, who seemed loath to
relinquish his booty.

As she walked up the street with the bishop, she frankly related the
family history and the part Mr. Meredith and the surplice had played
therein.

The bishop had generous instincts, and a desire to reach the needy
directly instead of through the medium of institutions, but he had never
known just how to approach them. His presence in this unknown part of