"Everything comes to an issue to him who knows how to wait," said Tom Chance, folding up the local newspaper with an air of deep satisfaction.  
He was sitting in the verandah at the farm, and Betty busied herself with a pile of mending that lay on the table before her. Tom often found his way up to the farm on a Saturday evening when his work was finished, for devoted as he and his sister were to each other, in Betty he found a more understanding sympathiser with his work. She looked up now with a quick smile.
 
"What have you been waiting for?"
 
"Waiting to catch the Bishop, and I believe the time has come when I may hope to hook him. Anyway, I will write to-night."
 
"Then he's likely to be in the neighbourhood?"
 
"He's advertised in that paper as due at Rumney in a fortnight's time to open their new little church."
 
"Not really!" cried Betty, laying down her work. "How perfectly delightful! Do you know that church has taken twenty years in the building? at least the first money for it was collected twenty years ago, but it was not nearly enough to cover the cost, so it was laid aside to wait for better days, and it seemed as if the better days were never coming. Now one energetic farmer has taken it up, and pushed it through by hook or crook, but I did not know it was so near completion. I must get over to the opening."
 
"It is to be a very gala day by the newspaper account, and I think you might take me with you, and we'll get hold of the Bishop and bring him back with us. Can you manage it, do you think?"
 
"What makes you want him so much?"
 
"I'll tell you if you care to hear."
 
Betty nodded, and there, in the glory of the setting sun which was flooding the western sky with every hue of the rainbow, she sat and listened to Jessie's story, her eyes filling with tears.
 
"But how lovely," she said, when he finished. "So you've planned that the Bishop shall come here on purpose to confirm her?"
 
"If he will and can; I've never had a keener candidate. Since that first talk with her I've been giving her a regular course of preparation for confirmation, not holding out any hope that it might be here and now, in case no opportunity presented itself, but just to have her ready in case one might be given me."
 
"Shall you tell her about it?"
 
"Not till I get the Bishop's answer. The disappointment would be too bitter if it came a second time."
 
But the Bishop's answer was kind and favourable. He had just four hours to spare, and provided he could be fetched and taken back to the nearest railway station when the service was over, he would be delighted to come.
 
The children happened to call immediately after Tom had brought Jessie the wonderful news, and found her simply radiant with joy.
 
"The Bishop's coming on purpose to confirm me. Isn't it good of him and of Mr. Chance to have settled it? I'm so happy, I don't know how to lie still. I'd like to be up and jumping for joy."
 
But Jack stood looking at her with wondering eyes.
 
"I don't understand," he said. "What makes you so happy?"
 
"That I'm going to be confirmed," said Jessie simply. "I've wished it ever so much, and thought I might wait for years."
 
"What's being confirmed?"
 
Jessie flushed a little. "Being strengthened by God's Holy Spirit. It's only the Bishop who can confirm you, you know."
 
Jack asked no more; here was something quite beyond his understanding. Perhaps Uncle Tom could make it clearer if he could talk to him about it when they were quite alone.
 
He approached the subject cautiously on the following morning as he trotted down to church by Tom's side.
 
"Is a Bishop a sort of head doctor?" he asked.
 
Tom gave an inward chuckle, but kept outwardly grave.
 
"That's not exactly how I should describe him; he is the head of the clergy in any diocese where he may be placed, a diocese means a certain division of the church which is given into his keeping, and the clergy have to look up to him as their head. What made you think he was a head doctor?"
 
"I didn't understand, but Jessie said he would lay his hands upon her and make her strong."
 
They had reached the church door, and Tom unlocked it and passed in before he answered. Then, in the simplest language he could command, he drew Jack to his side and gave him his first lesson on the sacraments, the outward signs which—God appointed—convey the inward grace. He talked to him of baptism, pointing to the tiny font, as he spoke, where the water poured on the baby's face, accompanied with the clergyman's prayer, was the sign of the Holy Spirit descending upon the little child; how, after confirmation, that child would be dedicated to God to be His faithful soldier and servant until his life's end.
 
"And when you are a big boy, Jack, you will, I hope, do what Jessie is so anxious to do now, you will stand before the Bishop——"
 
"Will Jessie stand. Will she be strong enough?" broke in Jack.
 
"No, God will know she can't stand, but she will lie with folded hands and make her promise to go on serving God all her life and to fight against the devil and all his works, and then the Bishop will lay his hands upon her head and pray that the Holy Spirit may come upon her and make her strong enough by His gifts to keep this promise. It is that strength, we believe the laying on of hands conveys."
 
"Then it won't make Jessie walk?" said Jack dejectedly.
 
"Dear boy, it will make her walk straight on the road towards God, and that is the first thing, the most important thing in all the world, to get nearer to God. But if ever she is able to walk again it will be God that gives her the power. And now it is time you began to ring the bell."
 
But Jack had some more questions to ask.
 
"Shall I see Jessie confirmed, see the Bishop lay his hands on her head?"
 
"Why, surely, if you wish it, and join your prayer with his. 'Pray God give Jessie Thy Holy Spirit.'"
 
"And when will I be big enough?"
 
"To be confirmed, do you mean? It's not so much a question of years, or size, as of understanding, Jack; understanding what you are doing. Jessie quite understands."
 
"You said when I was big. I want to be big most of all to go to father. He will fetch me when I'm big enough."
 
"Well, perhaps it might be before father fetches you, in this very church. Who knows? But no one can settle that now."
 
Jack did not speak of his talk with Uncle Tom even to Aunt Betty, but it sank deep in his heart, taking its place side by side with the great event that he looked forward to in future years, when "he was big," when father would come to fetch him; and before that, Uncle Tom had suggested that he might be confirmed as Jessie was going to be confirmed. He could not have put the notion into words yet, but the seed which was planted in his heart that Sunday sprouted lustily. Meanwhile, the day of the opening of Rumney Church and of Jessie's confirmation drew near. Happily the day proved fine, one of those wonderfully brilliant Tasmanian days that almost beggars description. Tom presented himself in good time at the farm, and failing to find anyone in the house, passed round to the stables at the back, where he found Betty putting Tim, the handsome mettlesome pony, into the shafts of the cart.
 
"But let me," said Tom, springing to her assistance.
 
"Thank you, no," said Betty with a laugh. "Tim resents strangers and gets possessed of an evil spirit if anyone handles him but a known and trusted friend. I always have to harness him when I go anywhere. Gently, Tim, gently," as Tim's head went up with a snort as Tom drew near. "I hope you don't mind trusting yourself to me. There's no room for father if we bring the Bishop back. It's a lovely drive, but very rough for the last two miles through a bush road. To go round makes five miles difference."
 
"If I minded unmade roads or untrained horses I should hardly be fitted for my work as a Bush parson," said Tom with a gay laugh.
 
"Very well, get in then, and we'll be off."
 
The descent through the paddock was made chiefly on the pony's back legs, but once on the open road he settled to his paces and conversation was possible. The going was rapid, for uphill or down—and in that part of the world it is always one or the other—seemed to make no difference to Tim.
 
"'My steed on his journey was gay, As I on my journey to Heaven'" quoted Tom, "a little break-neck, perhaps, for the bush road you promise me for the last part of the way."
 
"Which shows how little you know of Tim; you will see how soberly and sure-footedly he will pick his way. I believe you are nervous, notwithstanding your boast when you started!"
 
"Well, I will promise not to have hysterics or clutch at the reins," said Tom, jumping down to open the gate which barred the bush road from the highway. And here it meant careful going, for bullock drays had been lately along carting away some freshly hewn timber, and in many places the cart sank into the ruts almost up to the axles. Tom got out and walked to lighten the weight on the pony's back. It was really pretty to see the dainty way the creature put down its feet, avoiding bigger stones and curvetting past the huge logs that often-times blocked the road, making a diversion into the fern-clothed sides necessary.
 
"But it's hardly a safe way for even as good a driver as Betty," he thought, and almost before the thought framed itself, Tim was rearing and backing, and then, with a swift swerve, would have smashed himself, Betty, and the cart, against the enormous bole of a tree, but for Tom's hasty dash to his head. For a moment the issue seemed doubtful, but Tom's strong hand and soothing voice brought him into subjection, and he stood trembling from head to foot.
 
"And what was all the fuss about?" said Tom, patting Tim's head with as much confidence as if they were friends of long standing. "Let's have a look, old man, and see if we can't get over the difficulty," and round the curve which Tim had just come, Tom saw the half length of a tree which had been lately felled from which a long piece of bark had been stripped and the dazzling flicker of sunshine across it had startled Tim and terrified him.
 
But realizing now what it was, the difficulty was at an end, and Tim passed by without further resistance.
 
"It's smoother now; you can get in if you like," said Betty, a little crossly, and Tom mounted to her side.
 
"It's a nasty fall to my pride," she said after a moment. "We should have been smashed up into matchwood but for you, and hitherto I'm the only one in the family with whom Tim has never misbehaved himself."
 
"But it puts me on equal terms with you again, and soothes my wounded vanity. You can't forget that on the first occasion we met you caught me out at cricket," Tom answered, good-humouredly.
 
"But I am doubly in the wrong, for I told you Tim would not let you touch him, and he was as a lamb in your hands," went on Betty, still put out.
 
"But that is something I was born with: that is no credit to me. I love all animals, and I think they know it."
 
They were through the bush now and trotting gaily along the road to Rumney, passing groups of people from the various farms, all bent in the same direction.
 
"Everyone comes," said Betty, "on an occasion of this kind. Roman Catholics and every denomination that calls itself Christian."
 
"That seems to me rather beautiful. Ah! there is the Bishop waiting by the foot of the hill with quite a cluster of people about him."
 
"I'll let you down with your bag and drive on to the inn, and put up Tim," said Betty, and Tom tactfully made no offer to do it for her.
 
Very soon she was wending her way, with many others, to the new little church built on the side of a hill just beyond the township in a clearing in the bush. There was no fence round it, no properly-made path to lead up to it, but there was a nameless charm in the primitive simplicity of it all, and Betty went in and thanked God that at last the church, so long in hand, was completed.
 
There was a pretty little altar with a wooden cross and vases of fresh flowers on either side of it, a prayer desk, which at present had to serve as lectern desk, and pulpit, and a very simple font, but benches had had to be borrowed from the school-house hard by. It was hoped that the offerings of the day might help to provide some new ones. But Betty's attention was arrested by the sound of singing, and glancing through the open door of the porch, she saw a little procession of clergy winding its way up the hill towards the church, the Bishop bringing up the rear.
 
"The Church's one foundation
Is Jesus Christ her Lord——"
so the words rang—at first only sung by the clergy, but as they neared the door the congregation rose as one man to their feet, and the well-known hymn was taken up lustily until the little building was filled with the volume of sound.
 
To Betty, all unused to church functions, it seemed the most beautiful service she had ever attended, the touching words of consecration, the collects that followed when the Bishop, kneeling in the middle of the step that led up into the tiny sanctuary, prayed God to let His blessing rest upon this house and upon the people that should worship therein, and last of all the Bishop's address, quite short and simple, so that everyone present could fully understand, and yet so forcible in its simplicity, so impressive on the importance of this dedication day, which he begged them to observe as a holiday from that time forward, a day of joyous thanksgiving that God had allowed them, as to Solomon, to build Him a house. And then the Bishop raised his hands in supplication.
 
"Prosper Thou the work of their hands upon them, O Lord; O prosper Thou their handiwork."
 
The Blessing and a recessional hymn closed the short and simple service, and then, whilst the congregation trooped off to the paddocks where sports were to finish the day's holiday, the Bishop, after a hasty lunch provided at the farmer's house near by, announced himself ready to accompany Betty and Tom Chance.
 
An hour later the cart drew up at the door of the cottage opposite the church, and the Bishop stood for a moment bareheaded on the threshold.
 
"Peace be to this house," he said in his kindly tones, then stooped to pat the head of the little boy in a white suit who stood with his cap in his hand earnestly looking up into his face.
 
"Jessie's little brother?" he suggested.
 
"No, my little nephew," smiled Betty, "but he was very anxious to see Jessie confirmed."
 
"And it's always well to have a congregation," answered the Bishop, and then he passed into the room where Jessie lay, a pretty picture in her soft tulle cap and white muslin jacket which Betty had provided for her confirmation day. A flush was on her cheeks, and her eyes glowed like stars as the Bishop bent over her and took her hand, speaking a few kind encouraging words. And then his eye glanced round the crowded room, for Jessie's parents had driven over for the day, and a neighbour or two had expressed the wish to be present.
 
"It seems rather close and crowded, doesn't it?" said the Bishop, turning to Tom who stood by the open doorway, "and there is plenty of room over there," with a nod at the little church opposite. "I think we could carry her, bed and all, over there, don't you? Will you see to it, whilst I adjourn to the vestry and put on my robes?"
 
"But of course I could nearly carry her alone," said Tom, so between him and her father, Jessie was gently moved over the road through the porch, and into the church beyond, whilst Jack to make the thing complete, climbed on to his usual hassock and rang the bell until the Bishop, preceded by Uncle Tom, issued from the vestry, and then he slipped quietly into a seat where he could watch the whole service from beginning to end. It was just as Uncle Tom had pictured it; Jessie lay there with folded hands and a radiant face making her promise with a clear confident voice, and then the Bishop drew near and laid his hands upon her head, and Jack watched with awe-struck eyes, and wondered if the wind that came rushing down from the hills at that moment and went whistling by the church was the outward sign of the Holy Spirit descending upon Jessie and making her strong. She was not strong at present for she was crying!
 
And then the Bishop still stood by her looking down on her with a tender smile, and talked of how once our Lord had called a child to Him, and how he was sure His call had come to her to-day, a call to which she was very ready to listen, and he believed she would follow Him to her life's end.
 
"Yes, I'll try," said Jessie, smiling through her tears.
 
There was quite a long pause at the end of the service, when the tiny congregation remained kneeling, praying for the child who had so earnestly renewed her baptismal promises.
 
"Don't carry me back home yet. I want to see the Bishop, and to thank him for coming," whispered Jessie, and the Bishop, bag in hand, came down the church and took her hand in his.
 
"Mr. Bishop, if I live to be quite an old woman, I won't forget your coming here to-day," she said.
 
"It's been a happy day for us both, Jessie," was the kind answer. "God have you in His keeping now and evermore," and with that final blessing the Bishop hurried off to his train. After putting him into the cart, Tom and her father returned to carry Jessie back.
 
"Yes, I'm ready to go now," she said. "I'm very tired, but it has been the happiest day of my life, the grandest, happiest day!"
 
"And when I'm big I'll be confirmed like Jessie," thought Jack, as he sped home, "but I hope I'll stand on my feet, not lie on a bed as she did."
 
"It was the loveliest confirmation I have ever been at," said Tom to his sister that night. "I wish you had come to it, Clarissa."
 
"I was too shy," his sister answered.