who stay are getting impudent!
They seem to be expecting something. What's the crowd, Jim?"

The chauffeur said that there was some sort of Chinese official in town
and everybody wanted to glimpse him. He drove around another way.

It all happened very suddenly. The bishop of New York, in full
canonicals for the early wedding, stepped out on the rear balcony of his
mansion, just as the dying sun lit crimson clouds of glory in the East
and burned the West.

"Fire!" yelled a wag in the surging crowd that was gathering to
celebrate a southern Christmas-eve; all laughed and ran.

The bishop of New York did not understand. He peered around. Was it that
dark, little house in the far backyard that flamed? Forgetful of his
robes he hurried down,--a brave, white figure in the sunset. He found
himself before an old, black, rickety stable. He could hear the mules
stamping within.

No. It was not fire. It was the sunset glowing through the cracks.
Behind the hut its glory rose toward God like flaming wings of cherubim.
He paused until he heard the faint wail of a child. Hastily he entered.
A white girl crouched before him, down by the very mules' feet, with a
baby in her arms,-a little mite of a baby that wailed weakly. Behind
mother and child stood a shadow. The bishop of New York turned to the
right, inquiringly, and saw a black man in bishop's robes that faintly
re-echoed his own. He turned away to the left and saw a golden Japanese
in golden garb. Then he heard the black man mutter behind him: "But He
was to come the second time in clouds of glory, with the nations
gathered around Him and angels--" at the word a shaft of glorious light
fell full upon the child, while without came the tramping of unnumbered
feet and the whirring of wings.

The bishop of New York bent quickly over the baby. It was black! He
stepped back with a gesture of disgust, hardly listening to and yet
hearing the black bishop, who spoke almost as if in apology:

"She's not really white; I know Lucy--you see, her mother worked for the
governor--" The white bishop turned on his heel and nearly trod on the
yellow priest, who knelt with bowed head before the pale mother and
offered incense and a gift of gold.

Out into the night rushed the bishop of New York. The wings of the
cherubim were folded black against the stars. As he hastened down the
front staircase the governor came rushing up the street steps.

"We are late!" he cried nervously. "The bri