staff, secretary and housekeeper. All the burden of responsibility rests on her shoulders. They are good broad shoulders, for she weighs sixteen stone, if she weighs an ounce. Yet she moves about as softly as a man of ten stone who keeps his muscles hard. Her round, kind face brightened with a smile at the sight of me, and she said: "I'm very pleased to see you, Roger. Those checks you sent were a godsend. We have come out at the end of the quarter with a balance to the good—a balance of £43 4s. 7d."
These were the checks of Chelubai and Bottiger.
"I'm glad of it," I said cheerfully.
"I'm not asking how you got them, and I don't care. I—I'd take Rockefeller's tainted money joyfully, if he would send it this way. Those checks were a godsend, and I'm thankful to you for them. God truly moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform."
Sister Elizabeth has convinced herself by some odd feminine mental process that I am a very wicked young man about town. Simple soul that she is, she believes my Bridge to be a form of reckless gambling; and she knows that some of the proceeds of a run of good luck always come to the hospital. I never try to shake her conviction. Why should It It pleases her, and it does not hurt me. She lives among saints, but she has a liking for sinners—those sinners who do not
