which I would like to propose. To-morrow is Sunday; for that reason
we should endeavor to make the day as quiet and peaceable as possible, and
we should avoid everything which may be difficult of explanation or
calculated to bring about an unpleasant difference of opinion among other
members of the party. Therefore, will you postpone the time at which you
will definitely urge my departure until Monday morning?"

"Well," said Matlack, "now I come to think of it, it might be well not to
kick up a row on Sunday, and I will put it off until Monday morning; but
mind, there's no nonsense about me. What I say I mean, and on Monday
morning you march of your own accord, or I'll attend to the matter
myself."

"Very good," said the bishop; "thank you very much. To-morrow I will
consider your invitation to leave this place, and if you will come to Camp
Roy about half-past six on Monday morning I will then give you my
decision. Will that hour suit you?"

"All right," said Matlack, "you might as well make it a business matter.
It's going to be business on my side, I'd have you know."

"Good--very good," said the bishop, "and now let me get at that wood."

So saying, he put down his cane, took off his hat, his coat, his
waistcoat, his collar, and his cravat and his cuffs; he rolled up his
sleeves, he turned up the bottoms of his trousers, and then taking an axe,
he set to work.

In a few minutes Martin arrived on the scene. "What's up now?" said he.

"He's cuttin' wood for his meals," replied Matlack.

"I thought you were going to bounce him as soon as he got up?"

"That's put off until Monday morning," said Matlack. "Then he marches.
I've settled that."

"Did he agree?" asked Martin.

"'Tain't necessary for him to agree; he'll find that out Monday morning."

Martin stood and looked at the bishop as he worked.

"I wish you would get him to cut wood every day," said he. "By George, how
he makes that axe fly!"

When the bishop finished his work he drove his axe-head deep into a stump,
washed his hands and his face, resumed the clothing he had laid aside, and
then sat down to supper. There was nothing stingy about Matlack, and the
wood-chopper made a meal which amply compensated him for the deficiencies
of the Perkenpine repast.

When he had finished he hurried to the spot where the party was in the
habit of assembling around the camp-fire. He found there some feebly
burning logs, and Mr. Clyde, who sat alone, smoking h