seen him? He may be able
to--"

The guide grinned grimly. He had seen the man of muscle--not
fat--conversing that morning with Corona, and an hour afterwards he had
seen him, not in the same place, but in the same companionship, and it
gave him a certain pleasure to know that the man who could heave rocks and
break young trees could not relieve himself from the thralls of the lady
of the flowing speech.

"The bishop?" said he. "Don't you know where he went to?"

"He left me," she answered, "because he was obliged to go to prepare
dinner for my brother and Mr. Clyde; but he is not in Camp Roy now, for I
went there to look for Mrs. Perkenpine."

"Well," said the wicked Matlack, pointing to the spot where, not long
before, Margery had found a tranquillizing breeze, "I saw him going along
with a book a little while ago, and I think he went down to the shore,
just beyond that clump of bushes over there. He seems to be a man who
likes readin', which isn't a bad thing for a hermit."

"Thank you," said Miss Raybold, rising. "I do not care for anything more.
You are very kind, and I am quite sure I shall not have to trouble you
again. To-morrow everything will be running smoothly."

Matlack looked at her as she quietly walked away. "She's a pretty sort of
a hermit," he said to himself. "If she really had to live by herself she'd
cut out a wooden man and talk to it all day. It won't be long before she
accidentally stumbles over that big fellow with his book."

CHAPTER XXIII

MRS. PERKENPINE FINDS OUT THINGS ABOUT HERSELF

The mind of the guide was comforted and relieved that he had got the
better of the bishop in one way, although he could not do it in another.
But he did not relinquish his purpose of putting an end to the nonsense
which made him do the work of other people, and as soon as he had set his
kitchen in order he started out to find Mrs. Perkenpine. A certain amount
of nonsense from the people in camp might have to be endured, but nonsense
from Mrs. Perkenpine was something about which Peter Sadler would have a
word to say.

Matlack was a good hunter. He could follow all sorts of tracks--rabbit
tracks, bird tracks, deer tracks, and the tracks of big ungainly
shoes--and in less than half an hour he had reached a cluster of
moss-covered rocks lying some distance back in the woods, and approached
by the bed of a now dry stream. Sitting on one of these rocks, her back
against a tree, her straw hat lying