now what to do about it."

"Can't come?" asked Mrs. Archibald.

"Of course not," said he, all his ill-humor having returned. "That fellow,
the bishop, is in our camp and in Clyde's bed. Clyde foolishly gave him
his bed because he said the cook-tent was too cramped for a man to stay in
it all day."

"Why need he stay?" asked Mrs. Archibald. "Has he taken cold? Is he
sick?"

"No indeed," said Raybold. "If he were sick we might send for a cart and
have him taken to Sadler's, but the trouble is worse than that. His
clothes, in which he foolishly jumped into the water, have shrunken so
much that he cannot get them on, and as he has no others, he is obliged to
stay in bed."

"But surely something can be done," said Mrs. Archibald.

"No," he interrupted, "nothing can be done. The clothes have dried, and if
you could see them as they hang up on the bushes, you would understand why
that man can never get into them again. The material is entirely
unsuitable for out-door life. Clyde proposes that we shall lend him
something, but there are no clothes in this party into which such a
sausage of a man could get himself. So there he is, and there, I suppose,
he will remain indefinitely; and I don't want to bring my sister to a camp
with a permanently occupied hospital bed in it. As soon as I agreed to
Corona's coming I determined to bounce that man, but now--" So saying, Mr.
Raybold rose, folded his arms, and knit his brows, and as he did so he
glanced towards the spot where Margery and Clyde had been sitting, and
perceived that the latter had departed, probably to get some more birch
bark; and so, with a nod to Mrs. Archibald, he sauntered away, bending his
steps, as it were accidentally, in the direction of the young lady left
alone.

When Mr. Archibald heard, that evening, of the bishop's plight and
Raybold's discomfiture, he was amused, but also glad to know there was an
opportunity for doing something practical for the bishop. He was beginning
to like the man, in spite of his indefiniteness, so he went to see the
bedridden prelate who was neither sick nor clerical, and with very little
trouble induced him to take a few general measurements of his figure.

"It is so good of you," said the delighted recumbent, "that I shall not
say a word, but step aside in deference to your conscience, whose
encomiums will far transcend anything I can say. You will pardon me, I am
sure, if I make my measurements liberal. The cost will not