“I don’t justify it by any rubric,” the Missioner replied.

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?”

“I justify it by the needs of human nature,” the Missioner continued.  “In order to provide the necessary three communicants for the mid-day Mass. . . .”

“One moment, Mr. Rowley,” the Bishop interrupted.  “I beg you most earnestly to avoid that word.  You know my old-fashioned Protestant notions,” he added, and his eyes so tired with pain twinkled for a moment.  “To me there is always something distasteful about that word.”

“What shall I substitute, my lord?” the Missioner asked.  “Do you object to the word ’Eucharist’?”

“No, I don’t object to that, though why you should want a Greek name when we have a beautiful English name like the Lord’s Supper, why you should want to employ such a barbarism as ‘Eucharist’ I don’t know.  However, if you must use Eucharist, use Eucharist.  And now, by wandering off into a discussion of terminology I forget where we were.  Oh yes, you were on the point of justifying non-communicating attendance by the needs of human nature.”

“I am afraid, my lord, that in a district like St. Agnes’ it is impossible always to ensure communicants for sometimes as many as four early Lord’s Suppers said by visiting priests.”

The Bishop’s eyes twinkled again.

“Yes, there you rather have me, Mr. Rowley.  Four early Lord’s Suppers does sound, I must admit, a little odd.”

“Four early Eucharists followed by another for children at half-past nine, and the parochial sung Mass—­sung Eucharist.”

“Children?” Dr. Crawshay repeated.  “You surely don’t let children go to the Celebration?”

“Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven,” Father Rowley reminded the Bishop.

“Yes, yes, I happen to have heard that text before.  But the devil, Mr. Rowley, can cite Scripture to his purpose.”

“In the last letter I wrote to your lordship about the services at St. Agnes’ I particularly mentioned our children’s Eucharist.”

“Did you, Mr. Rowley, did you?  I had quite forgotten that.”

Father Rowley turned to Mark for verification.

“Oh, if Mr. Rowley remembers that he did write, there is no need to call witnesses.  I have had to complain a good deal of him, but I have never had to complain of his frankness.  It must be my fault, but I certainly hadn’t understood that there was definitely a children’s Eucharist.  This then, I fancy, must be the service at which those three ladies complained of your treatment of them.”

“What three ladies?” asked the priest.

“Dear me, I’m growing very unbusinesslike, I’m afraid.  I thought I had enclosed you a copy of their letter to me when I wrote to invite an explanation of your high-handed action.”

The Bishop sighed.  The details of these ecclesiastical squabbles distracted him at a time when he should soon leave this fretful earth behind him.  He continued wearily: