Saunders whistled again. "It beats me, Father," he said. "I own up. They know more than detectives."
At this moment Mark came striding over the lawn.
"Hello, Saunders," he called. "I've been looking for you. Now that I've got you, I might as well have it out and be done with it. Ruth wants you to stay here. She wants to make you one of us. We are going to Ireland for six months, and then we're coming back to live here part of each year. We want you to take charge of Killimaga. I've bought it. A good salary—no quarreling or dickering about it. What do you say?"
"This is certainly a surprise," said Saunders, winking at the Padre. "Have you room for an extra family?"
"You're married?"
"Very much so."
"The bigger the family the better. But," he added, as an afterthought, "I'll have to tell Ruth, or she'll be trying to marry you off. You'll come, then?"
"Yes," said Saunders, "I guess I'll take you up on that."
Mark shook hands with him. "Done. You're a good old chap. I thought you would stay."
Then, turning to Father Murray, Mark spoke more seriously. "Don't you think, Father, that it is almost time to meet the Bishop? He is coming on the next train, you know." He paused and seemed momentarily embarrassed. Then he straightened up and frankly voiced his thought. "Before he comes, will you not step into the church with me? I have a lot of things to straighten out."