So in the face of all that, there was nothing for Doris to do but go to bed. But she could not sleep. She tossed and tumbled, and finally, after counting both sheep and stars long and persistently3, and after repeating to herself all the [Pg 150]soothing and sleep-provoking poetry she could think of, she did fall into a troubled slumber4.
A long time afterward5 she became conscious of vague unrest. It must be terribly late, yet Doris was acutely certain that some one was moving around—doing something—things evidently were not right.
She slipped out of bed, and drew her flannel6 kimono about her. In the next room, her younger sisters were sleeping heavily. Her father's door was ajar, and she peered in, noting the humpy outlines of the beautiful blue and white Ladies' Aid quilt over the tall figure. Then a sudden glance from the hall window beside her sent a chill to her very heart.
The door of the barn—the "garage" now, by grace of dear Mr. Davison's red car—was slowly, softly opening. A man stepped out from the shadow and passed inside, the door swinging wide behind him. Then came the whirr of the engine, as he stepped on the starter.
Like a flash Doris leaped into her father's room, and clutched his shoulders.
[Pg 151]
"Run, run," she shouted lustily. "Run for your life. Some one is stealing the car. Father!"
Under the exertion7 of her strong arms, the figure rose quickly in the bed, and a long shaft8 of moonshine rested across his face—and it was a stranger. Doris stared at him in amazement9, holding the flannel robe about her throat more tightly, and then she sank back away from him, still staring.
"Who—are—you?"
"I am the bishop, my dear," he answered, too startled to remember he wasn't the only bishop in the world. "Your father brought me home with him to spend the night.—Isn't he here? Why, where is he? He came to bed with me."
At the hall window she heard again the spin of the motor, and the low purr as the engine leaped into action, and the car rolled out of the garage. It was father, of course—and bareheaded, too, in the middle of the night—an idiotic11 thing for a minister to do, going off for a[Pg 152] midnight joy-ride leaving a bishop in his bed— Well, Doris should worry! If a preacher couldn't take care of himself, who could?
She went resolutely12 back to bed, but not to sleep. Where in the world had father gone? Why had he brought a bishop into their home, and put him to bed, and then sneaked13 off and left him there? And by every conceivable stretch of the imagination that fellow in father's bed was too young to do any respectable bishoping, she was sure of that. Maybe he had only pretended to be a bishop, and father had discovered the deception14, and gone for the sheriff—or—oh, dear!
If he was a bishop, Doris knew that no one on earth but the Methodists would have such a young one. The Presbyterians did not approve of bishops15 in the first place, but if they did, they would have old ones with gray hair and wrinkles.
When she heard the car run into the garage again she leaped from her bed and hurried down-stairs. Her father and Rosalie were coming in together, laughing as unconcernedly as though bishops were every-day occurrences.
[Pg 153]
"You said you were not coming home," said Doris indignantly.
"I changed my mind. I have a class at eight in the morning, and I was afraid I might not make it. So I just phoned father to call for me in the car, and he told me to wait until he got there, and I did, but he forgot me."
"The bishop came home with me, and—"
"Don't I know it?" interrupted Doris hotly.
"And I forgot Rosalie, and then when we got to bed I remembered. And the bishop was asleep so I slipped out, and—"
"Isn't she dramatic?" laughed Rosalie. "Would it shock the church if we put her on the stage?"
"I wonder what happened? Well, let's go to bed, she'll be all right in the morning."
"Aren't you hungry, 'fath'? Let's raid the pantry, shall we? That will be a good joke on Doris, to pay her for her airs."
[Pg 154]
After the lunch they crept softly up-stairs to bed, and Rosalie kept up a pleasant chattering18 conversation which Doris met with unfriendly silence. What in the world would the bishop think of her? Whatever were they going to have for breakfast? Of course, father had always been free to bring people whenever he liked—but a bishop! Oh, well!
The next morning she ran down-stairs very early, and took stock of the stores in the pantry. For the first time she almost wished she had chosen the cow instead of the car—real cream would cover so many breakfast shortages. Fortunately there was one can of peaches in the cellar—they were being saved for a special occasion, but nothing could be any more special than a bishop. They could not have oatmeal, for Rosalie and father had finished off the milk. There were three eggs—she might cook them for the bishop, and tell him the family was on diet—ridiculous! She might make pancakes—that would be ample excuse for Doris to remain in the kitchen, too, and although she was a social[Pg 155] soul, she did not yearn19 to appear before that bishop, in spite of wondering whether he could truly be as young as he had looked in the moonlight in the middle of the night.
"Doris," came an imperative23 call from Zee at the head of the stairs. "Oh, Doris!" And Zee's voice was shrill24 and penetrating25. "Do—ris! Make Rosalie give back my blue ribbon—she borrowed it—and she can't!"
"Ummmmmm," muttered Doris grimly. "Wouldn't that be sure to happen on a bishop morning?" She ran to the bottom of the stairs.
"Rosalie, you can't borrow it if Zee won't lend it," she said softly, but in a determined26 voice. "But I am surprised that Zee would refuse—"
"I didn't refuse," protested Zee. "I am always willing to lend things. But she did not ask. She just snitched it."
"Zee, you must not say snitched."
"She may borrow it, if she asks, and says please," said Zee.
[Pg 156]
Then Rosalie flashed into the hall and dropped on her knees, both hands outstretched, and cried, "Oh, sweet young sister, for the sake of my immortal27 beauty, may I—"
"Rosalie!"
"'Scuse me, General. Please, fair Zee, may I borrow this bonny blue ribbon to wear in my golden locks? And you'd better say yes, for I'm going to borrow it anyhow."
Zee promptly28 pushed her over backward, and Rosalie leaped up and made a whirling rush at Zee, who tore into her own room, where Doris could hear them bouncing into the middle of the bed with a resounding29 spring—and then came stifled30 laughter, and squeals31, and—
Doris ran breathlessly up the stairs. She looked soberly at the flushed and laughing girls, all tangled32 up in the bed-clothes on the floor, and then she closed the door.
"Rosalie, what will the bishop think?"
"Oh, mercy, I forgot the bishop," cried Rosalie. "Zee Artman, you bad thing, see what you've done. You've shocked a bishop, and now he will[Pg 157] say we Presbyterians are not orthodox. It was all your fault—"
"Bishop? What bishop? Where's he at? Where'd we get him? You don't mean to say father brought a bishop here without a week's notice? Isn't that like a preacher?"
"Oh, girls, please get dressed and come and help me. The house is a sight. Treasure left that sticky stuff—"
"Papier-maché," said Treasure with dignity. "It is very scholastic33, we use it to make maps with. I guess it won't shock a bishop. But don't call it sticky stuff—say papier-maché."
"I do not care what it is called, dear, it must not be left all over the chairs in the dining-room—not when there is a bishop in the state."
"It is a shame, General, that's what it is," said Rosalie penitently34. "We'll just fly now, and help like good preachers. You run back to your pancakes, and don't worry."
They made so much haste after that to atone35 for their mischief36 that almost immediately they were down-stairs. Treasure hurriedly [Pg 158]straightened the living-room, Rosalie set the table most irreproachably37, and Zee slipped into the back yard and picked some golden glow.
"Oh, the roots were on the Davis side of the fence, but what I picked was on our side," she declared when Doris frowned at her. So Rosalie arranged the flowers in a big blue bowl on the table, and when the bishop and their father came down-stairs laughing agreeably, everything was lovely, and the girls were spotlessly clean, soft as to voice, and gentle as to manner. And although the bishop's eyes twinkled a little, his face was properly grave. He was not even as old as their father—think of that now—and a bishop—and he had a way of telling stories which was quite attractive in regular preachers but seemed a little out of harmony in a bishop—and in a few minutes they were all good friends.
"Is this the whole family?" asked the bishop, smiling on the three girls with approval.
"My oldest daughter, Doris, is getting breakfast. As a special treat, she is giving us pancakes and maple38 sirup, and she feels they require[Pg 159] her constant presence. She will be in presently, however."
Doris, listening at the door, could have blessed her father for the words. He had spoken of the pancakes as a favor instead of dire39 necessity—and perhaps the bishop would think that ordinarily they had common things like bacon and eggs, and hot muffins, and strawberry preserves, and grapefruit. More than that, he had offered a half apology for her absence, and Doris flatly refused to appear. She would cook for the bishop, she would wash his dishes and make his bed—but look him in the face she could not.
Presently they went out to the table, and Zee carefully carried the platter of cakes to the table, and later took it back to the kitchen for refilling. And Rosalie chattered40, and smiled into the bishop's eyes—for practise, she said afterward, not because she really hoped to dazzle a bishop, and the breakfast went smoothly41 on.
Doris, in the kitchen, flapped the cakes over, and pulled the griddles back and forth42 with a fury none the less real because it perforce was[Pg 160] silent, for in spite of her resentment43 not one sound would she permit to reach the ears of the bishop in her dining-room. And the heat of the stove made her cheeks crimson44, and her bad disposition45 made her eyes like bright sweet stars.
When breakfast was over the bishop seated himself comfortably with a paper in a far corner of the living-room where he was out of the way, and Rosalie ran off to college. After doing up the dishes, the younger girls also hurried to school, and Mr. Artman went out to the garage to look over the motor—not that he knew anything about motors, but because all conscientious46 owners of autos do it.
Doris was very much ashamed of her childish temper by this time, but after so long an absence she had not the heart to appear properly and humbly47 before the bishop to welcome him to the manse, and she stuck resolutely to the kitchen getting things ready for dinner. Still the bishop rocked comfortably in the living-room, the door open between him and the dining-room through which Doris must pass to reach the other part of[Pg 161] the house. And there was so much to be done up-stairs—maybe she could slip out to the barn and make father take the odious48 bishop for a ride.
Well, did you ever! There came a sudden light knock on the kitchen door, and before Doris had time to slip off the table where she had been swinging her heels in perplexity it opened, and the bishop's friendly face appeared.
"Good morning. May I come in? How busy you are to-day. I am afraid I have caused you extra work. You are Miss Doris, aren't you? I shall never forget the hand that is responsible for those delicious pancakes."
"Can you ever forget the hand that jerked you out of dreamland in the middle of the night?" she asked, laughing, the last trace of her anger vanishing forever.
Then they were friends, and since any one could see plainly there was nothing in the house that needed her particular attention, she took the bishop into the yard and they walked under the bare branches of the maples49, dragging their feet[Pg 162] through the crinkly fallen leaves, and then they visited father in the garage, teasing him for his motor madness. And it was lunch time before one could realize that breakfast was entirely50 a thing of the past.
Doris could have apologized for her rudeness very easily, for the bishop had a way of helping51 one to speak. But she knew it was not necessary, for the bishop also had a way of understanding even when words were left unsaid. And Doris wondered how he ever came to be a Methodist!
As Rosalie said afterward, "You ought to know better than to feed a man such pancakes if you want to be enemies with him."
And as Zee pointed52 out very plainly, "His age has nothing to do with it. He was married once, and you could not expect them to un-bishop him just because his wife died—I suppose bishops' wives can die if they want to, like anybody else."
And as Treasure insisted, "Doris is a lovely thing, in spite of being a general, and why shouldn't the bishop enjoy a manse for a change?"
[Pg 163]
At all events, the bishop tore himself away from the manse with the most utter and apparent reluctance53, and kept coming back now and again in a way that was flattering, as well as unprecedented54. And Mr. Artman began to look at his oldest daughter with puzzled wondering eyes, with something of pain in them—and the pancakes got better right along.
"Isn't it funny how regular bishops are, when you get to know them?" Doris said to Rosalie. "Why, I don't see any objection to them at all—we Presbyterians might have a few of our own." Then she said, "But between you and me, I think it is lots more fun to talk to people you don't understand, and do not know, and—perfect strangers, you know, who are very friendly. It is so much more thrilling."
"But how could one be a perfect stranger and still be very friendly?" laughed Rosalie.
"Why, very easily indeed. You don't know him, who he is, or where he lives, or anything—but when you are together you are great friends."
"Who are you talking about?"
[Pg 164]
"Why, anybody. Just any stranger that you do not know, but who has a way of being very intimate."
"Doris, you are dreaming," cried Rosalie. "Whoever heard of such a thing? If you are intimate, he can't be a stranger. If you are intimate, you've got to know each other."
"Oh, not necessarily. Not by any means."
"Well, for my part, I prefer people I know and like—people who sit down in the big chair and read the paper and act human."
Doris laughed gleefully. "I don't," she said. "For once you are more sensible than I am. I like perfect strangers that I do not know a thing about—but can tell from their eyes that they are good—I like people who just flit around, and come and go—like wizards."
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1
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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5
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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9
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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16
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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31
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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penitently
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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irreproachably
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| adv.不可非难地，无过失地 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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45
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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