The next morning Father Damon came in about luncheon-time.  He apologized for not coming before since her return, but he had been a little upset, and his work was more and more interesting.  His eyes were bright and his manner had quite the usual calm, but he looked pale and thinner, and so exhausted that Edith ran immediately for a glass of wine, and began to upbraid him for not taking better care of himself.

“I take too much care of myself.  We all do.  The only thing I’ve got to give is myself.”

“But you will not last.”

“That is of little moment; long or short, a man can only give himself.  Our Lord was not here very long.”  And then Father Damon smiled, and said “My dear friend, I’m really doing very well.  Of course I get tired.  Then I come up again.  And every now and then I get a lift.  Did Jack tell you about Henderson?”

“Yes.  Wasn’t it strange?”

“I never was more surprised.  He sent for me to come to his office.  Without any circumlocution, he asked me how I was getting on, and, before I could answer, he said, in the driest business way, that he had been thinking over a little plan, and perhaps I could help him.  He had a little money he wanted to invest—­

“‘In our mission chapel?’ I asked.

“‘No,’ he said, without moving a muscle.  ’Not that.  I don’t know much about chapels, Father Damon.  But I’ve been hearing what you are doing, and it occurred to me that you must come across a good many cases not in the regular charities that you could help judiciously, get them over hard spots, without encouraging dependence.  I’m going to put ten thousand dollars into your hands, if you’ll be bothered with it, to use at your discretion.’

“I was taken aback, and I suppose I showed it, and I said that was a great deal of money to intrust to one man.

“Henderson showed a little impatience.  It depended upon the man.  That was his lookout.  The money would be deposited, he said, in bank to my order, and he asked me for my signature that he could send with the deposit.

“Of course I thanked him warmly, and said I hoped I could do some good with it.  He did not seem to pay much attention to what I was saying.  He was looking out of the window to the bare trees in the court back of his office, and his hands were moving the papers on his table aimlessly about.

“‘I shall know,’ he said, ’when you have drawn this out.  I’ve got a fancy for keeping a little fund of this sort there.’  And then he added, still not looking at me, but at the dead branches, ’You might call it the Margaret Fund.’”

“That was the name of his first wife!” Edith exclaimed.

“Yes, I remember.  I said I would, and began to thank him again as I rose from my chair.  He was still looking away, and saying, as if to himself, ‘I think she would like that.’  And then he turned, and, in his usual abrupt office manner, said:  ’Good-morning, good-morning.  I am very much obliged to you.’”