"May I make you a flag?" said Mrs. Dibbott presently.
"Splendid, I haven't one. You might put on my crest. It's an Irish one with a complete menagerie of animals."
"And some of the rest of us will provide the linen," added Mrs. Worden, who was a famous housekeeper.
"My dear ladies, your sex is really the backbone of ours and not the missing rib," said the bishop who, when he was genuinely touched, often relapsed into his native humor. "But what shall we call the boat? I can't go on missionary voyages with an Indian pilot and a Scotch engineer in a slim, black, piratical looking vessel that flies the name of a heathen queen. Even my gaiters wouldn't save me from being misunderstood."
"Would the name 'Evangeline' do?" asked a gentle voice as Mrs. Manson, who had been listening intently, moved a little closer. She breathed the word very softly and her large expressive eyes shot an uncertain glance at the broad back of her husband who stood just out of hearing.
"Evangeline!" The bishop had a sudden thrill in his tones.
"Evangeline she shall be, and may I prove worthy of my vessel."
A little later the three ladies went together and rather silently down the plank walk that led from the See House to the main road. Their eyes were on the tapering spars of the yacht that floated so gracefully a few hundred yards away.
"I wonder," said Mrs. Dibbott pensively, "if we really appreciate him."
"Meaning the Bishop?" demanded Mrs. Worden.
"Yes. He's a much bigger man than we realize, and he certainly gave up a great deal to come here."