calm sincerity,
"to reinforce my undertakings in your eyes. Your economic contention
is perfectly sound."

"I'm very glad to hear it, and you need no justification and need have
no qualms. In fact," here the bishop spoke slowly while his brown eyes
looked straight into the keen, gray orbs of his visitor, "you came up
here and did what you have done because you had to. Isn't that it?"

"Yes," said Clark simply, "I had to."

"Believe me, I quite understand. Now I wonder if you will understand
when I say how happy I would be to see you sometimes at church. It
would help me, and you too, and, I think, others as well."

"I understand perfectly," Clark replied gravely and in the most
friendly tones possible, "but my entire mind and intelligence are
intensely preoccupied. You will appreciate too that my imagination
plays no small part in my work. Every intellectual process and every
moment are demanded of me."

"What I refer to is neither mental nor imaginative, it is spiritual,"
said the bishop gently.

"I am afraid that I am principally conscious of the works, for the
present at any rate."

The bishop sighed inaudibly, then the visitor felt a hand on his arm.
"The wisest of all men once said that 'by their works ye shall know
them.' What better can I say to you?"

They parted a moment later, and Clark moved slowly down the plank walk.
He was apparently deep in thought. Opposite Fisette's cabin he halted
as though to go in, but turned homeward. That night he stood long at
the blockhouse window, listening to the boom of the rapids and staring
at the mass of buildings of his own creation. They were alive with
light and throbbing with energy. Below the power house the white water
raced away from the turbines and down the tail race, like a living
thing, to lose itself in the placid bosom of the river. Still further
on rose the uneven outlines of still greater structures as yet
unfinished, and the earth seemed, in the cool air, to be baring her
ancient bones to his drills and dynamite. Still staring, he remembered
the bishop's words and a strange thrill crept through him. These were
his works, and how should he be known?

That night, too, there stood at another window another man who could
just see the gleam of the rapids in the moonlight. Their softened
voice came to him in stillness, and far across the water glinted the
trembling reflection of electric light at the works. Slowly into his
brain the d