houses in different quarters of the city. It is a great extravagance,
I know, but it is necessary. I make up for it in part by doing my own
cooking, though sometimes I get something to eat in cheap coffee-houses.
And I have made a discovery. Tamales* are very good when the air grows
chilly late at night. Only they are so expensive. But I have discovered
a place where I can get three for ten cents. They are not so good as the
others, but they are very warming.

* A Mexican dish, referred to occasionally in the literature
of the times. It is supposed that it was warmly seasoned.
No recipe of it has come down to us.

"And so I have at last found my work in the world, thanks to you, young
man. It is the Master's work." He looked at me, and his eyes twinkled.
"You caught me feeding his lambs, you know. And of course you will all
keep my secret."

He spoke carelessly enough, but there was real fear behind the speech.
He promised to call upon us again. But a week later we read in the
newspaper of the sad case of Bishop Morehouse, who had been committed to
the Napa Asylum and for whom there were still hopes held out. In vain
we tried to see him, to have his case reconsidered or investigated. Nor
could we learn anything about him except the reiterated statements that
slight hopes were still held for his recovery.

"Christ told the rich young man to sell all he had," Ernest said
bitterly. "The Bishop obeyed Christ's injunction and got locked up in a
madhouse. Times have changed since Christ's day. A rich man to-day who
gives all he has to the poor is crazy. There is no discussion. Society
has spoken."