THE BISHOP ENGAGES THE ATTENTION OF THE GUIDES
When the boat touched the shore Margery ran to the cabin to assure Mrs.
Archibald of her safety, if she had been missed.
The bishop was sticking the stake in the hole from which he had pulled it,
when Martin came running to him.
"That's a pretty piece of business!" cried the young man. "If you wanted
to go out in the boat, why didn't you come to me for the key? You've got
no right to pull up the stakes we've driven down. That's the same thing as
stealing the boat. What's the matter? Did you tumble overboard? You must
be a pretty sort of an oarsman! If the ladies want to go out in the boat,
I am here to take them. I'd like you to understand that."
As has been said before, the bishop could smile under almost any
circumstances, and he smiled now, but at the same time his brow wrinkled,
which was not common when he smiled.
"I am going down to the shore to get my hat and shoes," he said, "and I
would like you to come along with me. I can't stand here and talk to
you."
"What do you want?" said Martin.
"Come along and see," said the bishop; "that is, if you are not afraid."
That was enough, and the young man walked behind him until they reached
the spot where the bishop had taken to the water. Then he stopped, and
explained to Martin all that had happened.
"Now," said he, "what have you got to say?"
Martin, now that he knew that the bishop had plunged into the water for
the sake of the beautiful Margery, was more jealously angry than when he
had supposed he had merely taken her out to row.
"I haven't anything to say," he answered, shortly, "except that parsons
had better attend to their own business, if they have any, and let young
ladies and boats alone."
"Oh, that's all, is it?" said the bishop, and with a quick step forward he
clutched the young man's arm with his right hand, while he seized his belt
with the other, and then with a great heave sent him out into the water
fully ten feet from the shore. With a splash like a dropped anchor Martin
disappeared from view, but soon arose, his head and shoulders above the
surface, where he stood for a moment, spluttering and winking and almost
dazed.
The bishop stood on the bank and smiled. "Did you fall overboard?" said
he. "You must be a pretty sort of a boatman!"
Without replying, Martin began to wade ashore.
"Come on," said the bishop; "if you can't get up the bank, I'll help
you."
But Martin needed no help; he scrambled to the bank, shook himself, and
then advanced upon the bishop, fire in his eye and his fist clinched.
"Stop, young man," said the other. "It would not be fair to you if I did
not tell you that I am a boxer and a heavy-weight, and that I threw you
into the water because I didn't want to damage your face and eyes. You
were impertinent, but I am satisfied, and the best thing you can do is to
go and change your clothes before any one sees you in that plight. You are
better off than I am, because I have no clothes with which to make a
change." So saying, he sat down and began to put on his shoes.
Martin stood for a moment and looked at the bishop, he thought of Margery
and a possible black eye, and then he walked as fast as he could to his
tent to get some dry clothes. He was very wet, he was very hot, he was
very angry, and what made him more angry than anything else was a respect
for the bishop which was rising in him in spite of all his efforts to keep
it down.
When Mr. Archibald and his party came back to camp late in the afternoon,
Margery, who had already told her story to Mrs. Archibald, told it to each
of the others. Mr. Archibald was greatly moved by the account of the
bishop's bravery. He thoroughly appreciated the danger to which Margery
had been exposed. There were doubtless persons who could be trusted so sit
quietly in a little boat with only one oar, and to float upon a lake out
of sight and sound of human beings until another boat could be secured and
brought to the rescue, but Margery was not one of these persons. Her
greatest danger had been that she was a child of impulse. He went
immediately to Camp Roy to see the bishop and express his gratitude, for
no matter how great the foolish good-nature of the man had been, his brave
rescue of the girl was all that could be thought of now.
[Illustration: "WITH A GREAT HEAVE SENT HIM OUT INTO THE WATER"]
He found the bishop in bed, Mr. Clyde preparing the supper, and Mr.
Raybold in a very bad humor.
"It's the best place for me," said the bishop, gayly, from under a heavy
army blanket. "My bed is something like the carpets in Queen Elizabeth's
time, and this shelter-tent is not one which can be called commodious, but
I shall stay here until morning, and then I am sure I shall be none the
worse for my dip into the cold lake."
As Mr. Archibald had seen the black garments of the bishop hanging on a
bush as he approached the tent, he was not surprised to find their owner
in bed.
"No," said the bishop, when Mr. Archibald had finished what he had to say,
"there is nothing to thank me for. It was a stupid thing to launch a young
girl out upon what, by some very natural bit of carelessness, might have
become to her the waters of eternity, and it was my very commonplace duty
to get her out of the danger into which I had placed her; so this, my dear
sir, is really all there is to say about the matter."
Mr. Archibald differed with him for about ten minutes, and then returned
to his camp.
Phil Matlack was also affected by the account of the rescue, and he
expressed his feelings to Martin.
"He pulled up the stake, did he?" said Phil. "Well, I'll make him pull up
his stakes, and before he goes I've a mind to teach him not to meddle with
other people's affairs."
"If I were you," said Martin, "I wouldn't try to teach him anything."
"You think he is too stupid to learn?" said Matlack, getting more and more
angry at the bishop's impertinent and inexcusable conduct. "Well, I've
taught stupid people before this."
"He's a bigger man than you are," said Martin.
Matlack withdrew the knife from the loaf of bread he was cutting, and
looked at the young man.
"Bigger?" said he, scornfully. "What's that got to do with it? A load of
hay is bigger than a crow-bar, but I guess the crow-bar would get through
the hay without much trouble."
"You'd better talk about a load of rocks," said Martin. "I don't think
you'd find it easy to get a crow-bar through them."
Matlack looked up inquiringly. "Has he been thrashing you?" he asked.
"No, he hasn't," said Martin, sharply.
"You didn't fight him, then?"
"No, I didn't," was the answer.
"Why didn't you? You were here to take charge of this camp and keep things
in order. Why didn't you fight him?"
"I don't fight that sort of a man," said Martin, with an air which, if it
were not disdainful, was intended to be.
Matlack gazed at him a moment in silence, and then went on cutting the
bread. "I don't understand this thing," he said to himself. "I must look
into it."