And what did I do now?
That's easy—fell asleep again. There wasn't anything else to do. Not really asleep this time, you know; just, just asleep enough to be wide awake to any chance there was in it.
The horses had started, and the carriage was half-way across the street before the Bishop noticed me.
He was a little Bishop, not big and fat and well-kept like the rig, but short and lean, with a little white beard and the softest eye—and the softest heart—and the softest head. Just listen.
"Lord bless me!" he exclaimed, hurriedly putting on his spectacles, and looking about bewildered.
I was slumbering sweetly in the corner, but I could see between my lashes that he thought he'd jumped into somebody else's carriage.
The sight of his book and his papers comforted him, though, and before he could make a resolution, I let the jolting of the carriage, as it crossed the car-track, throw me gently against him.
"Daddy," I murmured sleepily, letting my head rest on his little, prim shoulder.
That comforted him, too. Hush your laughing, Tom Dorgan; I mean calling him "daddy" seemed to kind of take the cuss off the situation.
"My child," he began very gently.