"I am a bishop of the Episcopal Church, and I cannot endure to see a surplice in such a place as this."
A bishop! This was worse than a reporter even. St. John would surely hear of it! But she felt that an explanation was due the calling of her interlocutor.
She lifted righteous eyes to his.
"My mother works for one of the churches, and the minister, he give us this to cut up into clo'es fer the chillern, but we didn't cut it up. I'm agoin' to leave it here till the rent's paid, and we git the money to take it outen hock."
The bishop's eyes softened, and lost their look of shocked dignity.
"I will advance you the money," he offered. "I would much prefer to do so than to have it left here. How much money do you need to pay your rent?"
"We need five dollars," said Amarilly, "to pay the balance of it. But I wouldn't take it from you. I ain't no beggar. I don't believe, nuther," she continued, half to herself, "that Mr. St. John would like it."
"Who is Mr. St. John?" he asked curiously. "I know of no such rector in this diocese. My child, you have an honest face. Since you won't accept a gift of money, I will lend, you the amount. I want you to tell me all about yourself and this surplice."
"Well, mebby he'd want me to," reflected Amarilly.
"Gimme back that surplus," she said to the Jew, who seemed loath to relinquish his booty.