“Right Reverend Bishop and Reverend Fathers,” he began, when he had enforced silence with the handle of his fork, “it is my pleasure and pride to be here to-day.  Three years ago a young priest was sent to one of the most miserably poor places in the Diocese.  What he found you all know.  The sorrowful history of the decline of Alta was never a secret record.  Eighteen careless families left.  Bigotry rampant.  Factories closed to Catholics.  Church dilapidated.  Only the vestry for a dwelling place.  That was three years ago, and look around you to-day.  See the church, house and school, and built out of what?  That is Father Broidy’s work and Father Broidy’s triumph, but we are glad of it.  No man has made such a record in our Diocese before.  What have we others done by the side of his extraordinary effort?  Yet we are not jealous.  We know well the good qualities of soul and body in our young friend, and God bless him.  We are pleased to be with him, though completely outclassed.  We rejoice in the resurrection of Alta.  Let me now call upon our beloved Bishop, whose presence among us is always a joy.”

When the applause subsided the Bishop arose, and for an instant stood again with that meaning smile just lighting his face.  For that instant he did not utter a word.  When he did speak there was a quiver in his voice that age had never planted and in spite of the jokes which had preceded and the laughter which he had led, it sounded like a forerunner of tears.  He had never been called eloquent, this kindly-faced and snow-crowned old man, but when he spoke it was always with a gentle dignity, and a depth of sympathy and feeling that compelled attention.

“It is a great satisfaction, my dear Fathers,” he began, “to find so many of you here to rejoice with our young friend and his devoted people, and to thus encourage the growth of a priestly life which he has so well begun in Alta.  No one glories in his success more than I. No one more warmly than I, his Bishop, tenders congratulations.  This is truly a day the Lord has made—­this day in Alta.  It is a day of joy and gladness for priest and people.  Will you pardon an old man if he stems the tide of mirth for an instant?  He could not hope to stem it for long.  On such an occasion as this it would burst the barriers, leaving what he would show you once more submerged beneath rippling waters and silver-tipped waves of laughter.  It seems wrong even to think of the depths where lie the bodies of the dead and the hulks of the wrecked.  But the bottom always has its treasure as well as its tragedy.  There are both a tragedy and a treasure in the story I will tell you to-day.”

“You remember Father Belmond, the first pastor of Alta?  Yes!  Then let me tell you a story that your generous priestly souls will treasure as it deserves.”

The table was strangely silent.  Not one of the guests had ever before known the depth of sympathy in the old Bishop till now.  Every chord in the nature of each man vibrated to the touch of his words.