Some dogs have a way of reading hearts, and Tag knew within
two minutes that Tode loved every lock on Little Brother's sunny head.
A few days after that Sabbath that the boy was never to forget, he
went to see Nan and the baby, and in the course of his visit,
remarked,
"Nan, I seen the bishop last Sunday."
"What bishop?" inquired Nan.
"The one that talked at the big, stone church--St. Mark's, they call
it."
"I wonder 't they let you in, if you wore them ragged duds," remarked
Mrs. Hunt.
"The bishop asked me to go in an' he took me in himself," retorted
Tode, defiantly.
"For the land's sake," exclaimed Mrs. Hunt. "He must be a queer kind
of a bishop!"
"A splendid kind of a bishop, I should think," put in Nan, and the boy
responded quickly,
"He is so! I never see a man like him."
"Never see a man like him? What d'ye mean, Tode?" questioned
Mrs. Hunt.
Tode looked at her as he answered slowly, "He's a great big man--looks
like a king--an' his eyes look right through a feller, but they don't
hurt. They ain't sharp. They're soft, an'--an'--I guess they look like
a mother's eyes would. I d'know much 'bout mothers, 'cause I never had
one, but I should think they'd look like his do. I tell ye," Tode
faced Mrs. Hunt and spoke earnestly, "a feller'd do 'most anything that
that bishop asked him to--couldn't help it.
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