vice to this efficient friend. Thus the rectory household was fairly in the hands of Mrs. Samuel Dorrs-Flathers.
At the death of his idealized wife the rector leaned like a younger brother upon the one woman of his parish who ministered to him in as generous sympathy as she gave lavishly to her god-children—the two little Archibalds.
The bishop of the diocese was an old man. His physicians knew that his days were numbered; and at the moment when this episode of which we write was about to occur, Samuel Flathers had wittily given the sobriquet to their rector of the "Bishop-elect."
Things certainly looked hopeful for the ambitious man as he sat swinging in his swivel-chair at the desk, reading leisurely his morning mail.
"Ah! here is a letter from Mrs. Maria Dorrs-Flathers," he ejaculated. "Her society paper? What's up now, I wonder?" as he cut open the envelope with "Lakeby" engraved upon its back.
"My dear 'Rev. Charles,'—You don't deserve to be called by our family pet name, now that you are breaking away from custom this summer! It is too bad! You and your children have been mine for four seasons. I am sure that dear Mary has known how we have tried to care for you and her beloved ones. Still, we must not be selfish; you have left me the children for a month. I will not complain. And I shall see to it that William studies with Sammie's tutor, and that little 'Junior' has his share of Nathan's pony-cart. Your boys and my boys must grow up together as if they were really of one family, such is their god-mother's interest and affection for them.
"Now to my business. Come to dinner to-morrow evening. I have a great deal to set before you after the coffee. As you know, I've been in New York for ten days visiting the Wheelers. I saw a great deal of Father Chatterton's work, and I became inspired by the things accomplished through the Deaconess School. The work those young women are doing is most impressive. We need a deaconess at St. Stephen's. Samuel says the vestrymen and the wardens will like it. I know they ought to, anyway. It will add one more dignity to your environment, you promising bishop-to-be! That I'll make good her salary until the church finds her indispensable goes without saying. No plan has ever failed yet when we have set on foot a movement. All you and I ever need to do with St. Stephen's is to establish a precedent.
"I'm constantly impressed with what we have done with the church, its growth in numbers and its standing in the country. And you have done it, dear friend. Oh! I shall see you a bishop yet—my heart's desire for you and with you.
"As always, we dine at seven; and you are to give me a whole evening.
Faithfully your friend,
Maria Dorrs-Flathers."
The bishop-elect smiled quizzically. "No, she doesn't own me quite body and soul. At least my body is going to New Hampshire for a month. Once I'm bishop, I think my soul will be more mine, too. Now it's a 'deaconess,' is it? What can I do with a 'deaconess,' pray? Why, we've dozens of them now in well-groomed attire, who wait upon me from the robing-room to the very altar, and dance attendance in every society organization of the church. But a 'deaconess' we shall have, if we must!
In the same mail the bishop-elect read from a letter dated from New York:
". . . So you are going to Shepherd's Hill for a week during your Granite State sojournings. 'Tis well; you will see Chocorua at the east, and perchance on a nearer horizon you may meet Theodora Hart—my beloved mountain and my beloved cousin. Miss Hart is Franklin's daughter (my first cousin once removed, you see). She is a deaconess by way of profession, who is doing a big work in the world outside of her churchly office. She was with us in our home in New York for two years, but for the past three she has been shaping her ends to work in the outlying districts of New Hampshire, where, she claims, the women need a 'woman' more than they need a clergyman. Just at present she's at Squam Lake, visiting Sister Katharine from St. Luke's. Look her up.
Yours,John March."
