While thus engaged a gentleman approached the party from the direction of Camp Roy. He was tall, well built, handsomely dressed in a suit of light-brown tweed, and carried himself with a buoyant uprightness. A neat straw hat with a broad ribbon shaded his smooth-shaven face, which sparkled with cordial good-humor. A blue cravat was tied tastefully under a broad white collar, and in his hand he carried a hickory walking-stick, cut in the woods, but good enough for a city sidewalk. Margery was the first to raise her eyes at the sound of the quickly approaching footsteps.
“Goodness gracious!” she exclaimed, and then everybody looked up.
For a moment the new-comer was gazed upon in silence. From what gigantic bandbox could this well-dressed stranger have dropped? Then, with a loud laugh, Mr. Archibald cried, “The bishop!”
No wonder there had not been instant recognition. The loose, easy-fitting clothes gave no hint of redundant plumpness; no soiled shovel-hat cast a shadow over the smiling face, and a glittering shirt front banished all thought of gutta-percha.
“Madam,” exclaimed the bishop, raising his hat and stepping quickly towards Mrs. Archibald, “I cannot express the pleasure I feel in meeting you again. And as for you, sir,” holding out his hand to Mr. Archibald, “I have no words in which to convey my feelings. Look upon a man, sir, who feels himself a man, and then remember from what you raised him. I can say no more now, but I can never forget what you have done,” and as he spoke he pressed Mr. Archibald’s hand with an honest fervor, which distorted for a moment the features of that gentleman.
From one to the other of the party the bishop glanced, as he said, “How glad, how unutterably glad, I am to be again among you!” Turning his eyes towards Miss Raybold, he stopped. That young lady had put down the letter she was reading, and was gazing at him through her spectacles with calm intensity. “This lady,” said the bishop, turning towards Raybold, “is your sister, I presume? May I have the honor?”
Raybold looked at him without speaking. Here was an example of the silly absurdity of throwing pearls before swine. He had never wanted to have anything to do with the fellow when he was in the gutter, and he wanted nothing to do with him now.
With a little flush on her face Mrs. Archibald rose.
“Miss Raybold,” she said, “let me present to you”—and she hesitated for a moment—“the gentleman we call the bishop. I think you have heard us speak of him.”
“Yes,” said Miss Raybold, rising, with a charming smile on her handsome face, and extending her hand, “I have heard of him, and I am very glad to meet him.”