"Bishop Malthouse!" someone from the rostrum shouted.
The dignified gentleman rose hastily, stooped and kissed the white cheek of the child, and departed after a hurried, "Sounds as if I was wanted."
At that moment Mrs. Campbell rustled up to the little recess where the wheel-chair stood, glanced apprehensively at the figure reclining among the cushions, and briskly asked, "Tired, dearie?"
"No, Grandma. I've had a lovely time. But who is that minister just going up the aisle?"
Mrs. Campbell glanced over her shoulder. "Bishop Malthouse, dear."
"Bishop—!" Words failed her.
"Yes, the man who appoints the ministers of this Conference."
"O, Grandma! And I told him some dreadful things about himself. We've been talking most of the afternoon."
Mrs. Campbell's heart smote her. "What did you say to him, girlie?"
Peace briefly recounted their conversation as she remembered it, and sighed tragically, "I talk too much. Faith says I tell all I know to everyone I meet."