Bishop! Madge is my sister--she's grown up. Dick made her cry, but I
think he wasn't much naughty, 'cause she would _not_ let me pound him.
She put her arms right around him."

"Oh!" said the Bishop, and there was silence for a moment. "You mustn't
tell me any more about Madge and Dick, I think, Eleanor."

"All right, my lamb!" Eleanor assented, cheerfully, and conversation
flagged.

"How old are you, Eleanor Gray?"

"Six, praise de Lawd!"

The Bishop considered deeply for a moment, then his face cleared.

"'Their angels do always behold the face of my Father,'" and he smiled.
"I say it too, praise the Lord that she is six."

"Madge is lots more'n that," the soft little voice, with its gay,
courageous inflection, went on. "She's twenty. Isn't that old? You
aren't much different of that, are you?" and the heavy, cropped,
straight gold mass of her hair swung sideways as she turned her face up
to scrutinize the tall Bishop.

He smiled down at her. "Only thirty years different. I'm fifty,
Eleanor."

"Oh!" said Eleanor, trying to grasp the problem. Then with a sigh she
gave it up, and threw herself on the strength of maturity. "Is fifty