“And how did it come about, my lad?” questioned the Bishop.

“Mostly through my mission bringing back some of the ‘ought-to-be’s,’ but I suppose principally because my friend McDermott opened his factory to Catholics.  You know, Bishop, that though he was born one of us he had somehow acquired a bitter hatred of the Church, and he never employed Catholics until I brought him around.”

There was a shadow of a smile that had meaning to it on the Bishop’s face, as he patted the ardent young pastor on the arm, and said: 

“Well, God bless him!  God bless him! but I suppose we must begin to vest now.  Is it not near ten o’clock?”

Father Broidy turned with a little shade of disappointment on his face to the work of preparation, and soon had the procession started toward the church.

Shall I describe the beauty of it all?—­the lights and flowers, the swinging censers, with the glory of the chant and the wealth of mystic symbolism which followed the passing of that solemn procession into the sanctuary?  That could best be imagined, like the feeling in the heart of the young pastor who adored every line of the building.  He had watched the laying of each stone, and could almost count the chips that had jumped from every chisel.  There had never been so beautiful a day to him, and never such a ceremony but one—­three years ago in the Seminary chapel.  He almost forgot it in the glory of the present.  Dear me, how well Kaiser did preach!  He always knew it, did Father Broidy, that young Kaiser had it in him.  He did not envy him a bit of the congratulations.  They were a part of Father Broidy’s triumph, too.  It was small wonder that the Dean whispered to the Bishop on the way back to the rectory: 

“You will have to put Broidy at the top of the list now.  He has surely won his spurs to-day.”

But again the shadow of the meaning smile was on the Bishop’s face, and he said nothing; so the Dean looked wise and mysterious as he slapped the young pastor on the back and said: 

“Proficiat, God bless you!  You have done well, and I am proud of you, but wait and listen.”  Then his voice dropped to a whisper.  “I was talking to the Bishop about you.”

The dinner?  Well, Anne excelled herself.  Is not that enough to say?  But perhaps you have never tasted Anne’s cooking?  Then you surely have heard of it, for all the Diocese knows about it, and everyone said that Broidy was in his usual good luck when Anne left the Dean’s and went to keep house for the priest at Alta.

Story followed story, as dish followed dish, and a chance to rub up the wit that had been growing rusty in the country missions for months never passed by unnoticed.

The Dean was toastmaster.