Part 25 (2/2)

Tom twisted uneasily on the chair and twirled his hat in his hands. He was mad at the way the Bishop had cornered him, and at what he had said. But he was also afraid of this man who knew so much and seemed to read his inmost thoughts. He began to dread the questions which he knew would come, and longed to be out of the vestry. He was not feeling so sure of himself and wished he had stayed away.

”The second charge made here,” continued the Bishop, ”is of a most serious nature. It is to the effect that your rector stole the gold from William Fletcher the night the house was burned, and used some of it to buy a farm. Is that what it means?”

”I--I--don't know,” Tom stammered, now on his guard, and not wis.h.i.+ng to commit himself.

”But you should know,” the Bishop insisted. ”You signed the paper, and I ask you what it means, then?”

”The gold is gone, sir, an' the parson was the only one there with Uncle Billy. Besides, where did he git all of that money?”

”But that's no proof. I want facts, and I expect you to give me some.”

”That's all I know,” was the surly response.

”And upon the strength of that suspicion you signed this paper?”

”Yes.”

”And you would swear that you know nothing definite?”

”Y--yes--that's all I know.”

The Bishop remained silent for a short time, musing deeply.

”Do you know,” he at length remarked, ”that you have put yourself in a very awkward position?”

”How's that?”

”You have virtually said that Mr. Westmore stole that gold. If you cannot prove your statements you have laid yourself open to prosecution for defamation of character. Your rector, if he wished, could bring in a charge against you of a most serious nature.”

”I never thought of that.”

”No, I know you didn't. You may go now, but remember the position in which you have placed yourself.”

Tom waited to hear no more. He fairly sprang to the door, his face dark and frightened. He spoke to no one, neither did he notice the st.u.r.dy form of Mrs. Stickles standing there waiting to be admitted into the vestry.

The Bishop looked up as the door opened and Mrs. Stickles entered. She always proved the dominating factor wherever she went, and what her size could not accomplish was well supplied by her marvellous tongue. The Bishop winced as she seized his hand in a vise-like grip.

”It's real glad I am to set me eyes on ye,” she exclaimed. ”I heven't seen ye in a dog's age, an' I'm mighty pleased ye look so well. How did ye leave the missus, bless her dear heart? My, I'm all het up, the church is so hot,” and she bounced down upon the chair Fletcher had recently vacated.

The Bishop's eyes twinkled, and his care-worn face brightened perceptibly.

His exalted position made him a lonely man. There was so much deference paid to him. People as a rule were so reserved in his presence, and showed a longing to be away. ”Many people desire a high office,” he had once said, ”but very few realize the responsibility and loneliness it entails.

So much is expected of a Bishop, and his slightest words and acts are criticized. I often envy humble workmen, smoking and chatting together.

They have many things in common. They may say what they like, and much heed is not given to their remarks.”

It was therefore most refres.h.i.+ng to have this big-hearted woman seated before him acting and talking so naturally, without the least restraint, the same as if she were in her own house.

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