The Canon looked at Mr. Peters, and Mr. Peters looked at the Canon.
“There must be some mistake,” said the Canon.
“There’s no mistake,” said the landlord. “I had my suspicions when I first clapped eyes on him. I seed he wasn’t our usual sort, and I seed how he tried to hide his face. If he weren’t the Bishop, then I don’t know a Bishop when I sees one, that’s all. Besides, there’s his bag, and there’s his sermon.”
Mr. Peters folded his arms and waited. The Canon pondered. Such things had been known to happen before in Church history. Why not again?
“Does any one know of this besides yourself?” asked the Canon.
“Not a livin’ soul,” replied Mr. Peters, “as yet.”
“I think—I think, Mr. Peters,” said the Canon, “that we may be able to extend your lease to twenty-one years.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” said the landlord, and departed. Next morning the Canon waited on the Bishop and laid the bag before him.
“Oh,” said the Bishop cheerfully, “he’s sent it back by you, has he?”
“He has, sir,” replied the Canon; “and thankful I am that it was to me he brought it. It is right,” continued the Canon, “that I should inform your lordship that I am aware of the circumstances under which it left your hands.”