Page:Anthony John (IA anthonyjohn00jero).pdf/95

 He rose, pushing back his chair with a grating sound upon the uncarpeted floor.

"You see," he said, "it isn't only oneself. One might do it if one were alone. The Roman Church is right on that point. And yet it doesn't work, even with them. The world gets hold of them. What's the date?" he said suddenly.

"December the fifth," Anthony told him.

"Just three weeks to Christmas." He was walking up and down the bare cold room. He halted a few steps in front of the lad. "Do you know what Christmas means to me? You will later on. Bills. Butcher's bills, baker's bills, bootmaker's bills—there's something uncanny about the number of boots that children seem to want. And then there's their school bills and their doctor's bills and the Christmas boxes and the presents. It's funny when you come to think of it. Christ's birthday. And I've come to dread it. What were we all talking about this afternoon here in the vestry? How to help Christ? How to spread His gospel? No, pew rates, tithes, clergy relief funds, curates' salaries, gas bills, fund for central heating and general repairs!

"How can I preach Christ, the Outcast, the Beggar, the Wanderer in the Wilderness, the Servant of the poor, the Carrier of the Cross? That's