Through the open window came the musical sound of the chimes from the cathedral. The Bishop, with a quick sigh, rose.
"There is a quarter to twelve. Your father will be going to bed. Fetch David quickly."
"Should fink he's cleaned by now," said Sandy hopefully. "He was rubbin' himself wiv the leaves off the trees--drippin' wet."
Mr. Bethune opened his front door in response to a low knocking, which at first he did not hear. His eyes had the unseeing, far-away look in them of a man disturbed in a possessing line of thought. The red light in the hall shone on the face of the Bishop, who entered and stood on the doormat for a minute, in such a position as to shield the entrance of the two muddy boys.
"Here is the _Guardian_ for you," he said, "with a very appreciative notice of your paper." Then he went on, "And tell Marjorie to-morrow morning not to be too cross with the state of the boys' clothes. They've been in mischief, but it won't happen again--not the same sort."
[Illustration: The father pretended not to hear the scuffling of small feet.]
The two men looked at one another and laughed, and the father pretended not to hear the scuffling of small feet upon the stairs. The Bishop went home with no weight on his conscience--only a little pathetic envy of the man he had just left. Somehow those stifled scufflings up the stairs had gone straight to the depths of his very tender and lonely heart.
"The Bishop knows all 'bout it," excused Sandy sturdily, when confronted by Marjorie the next morning.
"The Bishop knows that all your clothes are in the bath, with both taps running!"
"Well, he does," Sandy repeated, "proberly. He said we were the out-an'-outest dirtiest little grubs he'd ever seen."
"That you are--no one will contradict him. But he couldn't know that your clothes were in the bath."
"Yes, he would. If they were so dirty, where else could they be? It's all that 'gustin' funderstorm."
"Thunderstorm!" echoed Marjorie suspiciously. "That was at ten o'clock. What has that got to do with your clothes and the Bishop?"
"Tell you it has. You'd best ask him, if you don't b'lieve me," said Sandy, hurt at her unbelief. "Anyhow, he does know that they was dirty. An' just cos we want to save trouble an' wash 'em ourselves, you're cross an' spiteful. Girls are no good--'cept little uns. What's there to put on? Best be somefink old, cos there's a deal of diggin' to be done."