Rising to stretch his cramped legs, the bishop caught sight of Mrs. Bindle.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bindle. I hope your headache is better. Mr. Bindle has been telling me that he has had a mishap with your breakfast, so I'm helping him to cook it. I hope you won't mind if I join you in eating it."
"Now that's wot I call tack," muttered Bindle under his breath, "but my! ain't 'e a prize liar, 'im a parson too."
Mrs. Bindle came forward, an expression on her face that was generally kept for the Rev. Mr. MacFie, of the Alton Road Chapel.
"It's very kind of you, sir. I'm sorry Bindle let you help with the cooking."
"But I'm going to help with the eating," cried the bishop gaily.
"But it's not fit work for a——"
"I know what you're going to say," said the bishop, "and I don't want you to say it. Here we are all friends, helping one another, and giving a meal when the hungry appears. For this morning I'm going to fill the rôle of the hungry. I wonder if you'll make the tea, Mrs. Bindle, Mr. Bindle tells me your tea is wonderful."
"Oh, my Gawd!" murmured Bindle, casting up his eyes.
With what was almost a smile, Mrs. Bindle proceeded to do the bishop's bidding.