osition you speak of. I see that you are a man of
intelligence and education, and I believe that you would succeed in almost
any calling to which you would apply yourself with earnestness and
industry. You must excuse me for speaking so plainly, but I am much older
than you are and I do it for your good."

"Madam," exclaimed the bishop, radiant with grateful emotion, "I thank you
from the bottom of my heart for what you have said. I thank you for your
appreciation of me and for the generous motive of your words, but, to be
frank with you, I am not suited to a calling such as you have mentioned. I
have many qualities which I well know would promote my fortunes were they
properly applied, but that application is difficult, for the reason that
my principal mental characteristic is indefiniteness. When but a little
child I was indefinite. Nobody knew what I was going to do, or how I would
turn out; no one has since known, and no one knows now. In whatever way I
have turned my attention in my endeavors to support myself, I have been
obstructed and even appalled by the definiteness of the ordinary pursuits
of life. Now the making of a private library is in itself an indefinite
occupation. It has not its lines, its rules, its limitations. But do not
think, kind lady, that I shall always depend upon such employment. Should
I obtain it, I should hold it only so long as it would be necessary, and
it may be necessary for but a little while. Do you care to hear of my
permanent prospects?" said he, looking from one lady to the other.

"Certainly," said Margery, "we would like to hear all you have to tell."

"Well then," said the bishop, folding his arms and smiling effusively, but
with a gentle curbing of his ordinary cheerfulness, "I will inform you
that I have an uncle who is a man of wealth and well on in years.
Unfortunately, or fortunately it may be, this uncle greatly dislikes me.
He objects so strongly to my methods of thought and action, and even to my
physical presence, that he cannot bear to hear me speak or even to look at
me, and the last time I was in his company, about four years ago, he told
me that he would leave me a legacy on condition that he should never hear
from me or see me again. He promised to make the proper provision in his
will immediately, but declared, and I know he will keep his word, that if
he ever received a letter from me or even saw me or heard my voice he
would instantly strike out that clause. I