"Daddy," I murmured sleepily.
Oh, that little ramrod of a bishop! The blood rushed up under his clear, thin, baby-like skin and he sat up straight and solemn and awful—awful as such a tiny bishop could be.
"I fear, Miss, you have made a mistake," he said primly.
I looked at him steadily.
"You know I haven't," I said gently.
That took some of the starch out of him, but he eyed me suspiciously.
"Why don't you ask me where I got the coat, Bishop Van Wagenen?" I said, leaning over to him.
He started. I suppose he'd just that moment remembered my leaving it behind that day at Mrs. Ramsay's.
"Lord bless me!" he cried anxiously. "You haven't—you haven't again—"
"No, I haven't." Ah, Maggie, dear, it was worth a lot to me to be able to say that "no" to him. "It was given to me. Guess who gave it to me."