"Dear! dear!" said the Bishop, innocently, taking the paper and folding it away. "Did I leave out something I ought to have folded down? Well, don't ask me any questions. Don't ask me. It's a very imprudent person who tells names and tales the same day. I don't think I left out the name of the college, did I? Now, my boy, be off, before my waistcoat is. How could you respect my cloth if you should see me in flannel? I must go to rest if I mean to climb that cherry-tree with Joan to-morrow, and I certainly mean to try."
Bishop Hegan was always as good as his word, generally a little better; therefore the next morning he and Joan and the little boys and Lolly and the baby were all established under the spreading branches of the cherry-tree—Joan half ashamed of the tree's proportions, but wholly happy.
"Do you always move in a caravan like this?" asked Bishop Hegan, "I felt like Father Abraham establishing a tribe as we trailed over the fields. I don't remember asking any one but you to accompany me, Joan."
"They always come too," said Joan, simply, "wherever I go. Do you really want to climb this tree, godfather? It would be a nice way for you to celebrate the Fourth of July, wouldn't it?"
"For me, as a kind of mild and clerical dissipation, I suppose," laughed the Bishop. "Bless my soul, I don't believe there is such an unpatriotic man in America as I! Last Fourth of July I forgot to celebrate at all, and here's another Fourth hours old before I realize its birth."
Joan looked at her uncle with round shocked eyes. "Why, godfather! I didn't know you'd think that a right way to feel. I make our children pray every night for our country and the President and our continued independence."
The Bishop could not restrain a smile. "My little Joan of Arc," he said, and the words struck a chord of memory with them both. "How is it with Joan of Home?"
Joan shook her head sorrowfully. "Not very well. But indeed I am trying. I keep your letters and read them over, and I say, 'Joan of Home' every time I look at my lovely Joan of Arc; but I don't see yet why you told me to do that, godfather."
"Yes, you do," said the Bishop; "at least your heart has seen, if your mind has not. What do you think as you look at the Maid?"
Joan's eyes kindled; her voice rang: "That I would love to buckle on my armor as she did, and fight for my country as she fought."