Well, we thought we should have poor dear Uncle William perfectly
ill . . .

MANSON. Because of the drain? . . .

MARY. No, because of the Fund. He tried everything: all his rich
friends, bazaars, jumble-sales, special intercessions--everything!
And nothing seemed to come of it!

Then at last, yesterday morning, he was reading the newspaper, and
there was a long piece about the Bishop of Benares. Uncle read it
aloud to us. Suddenly, in the middle, he broke off and said: _Look
at the power this chap seems to have at the back of him! I wish to
God I had some of it_!

He had scarcely said it, when there was a rat-tat at the door: it
was the postman; and what do you think? IT WAS A LETTER FROM THE
BISHOP OF BENARES?

MANSON [anticipating the critics]. What a coincidence!

MARY. Isn't that wonderful? _Isn't_ it just like a fairy-tale?
Wait a bit. There's more yet . . . Here's the letter: uncle gave
it me for my autographs . . .

[She fishes it out from her pocket. MANSON reads it aloud, slowly
and clearly.]

MANSON. "_I shall be with you during to-morrow morning. If any
one will help me, I will restore your church. Your brother,