the
cap. His face was a funny mixture of doubt and determination. But it
meant the Correction for me.

"Nance Olden, it's over," I said to myself.

But it wasn't. For it was then that I caught sight of the carriage.
It was a fat, low, comfortable, elegant, sober carriage, wide and
well-kept, with rubber-tired wheels. And the two heavy horses were fat
and elegant and sober, too, and wide and well-kept. I didn't know it
was the Bishop's then--I didn't care whose it was. It was empty, and
it was mine. I'd rather go to the Correction--being too young to get
to the place you're bound for, Tom Dorgan--in it than in the patrol
wagon. At any rate, it was all the chance I had.

I slipped in, closing the door sharply behind me. The man on the
box--he was wide and well-kept, too--was tired waiting, I suppose, for
he continued to doze gently, his high coachman's collar up over his
ears. I cursed that collar, which had prevented his hearing the door
close, for then he might have driven off.

But it was great inside: soft and warm, the cushions of dark plum, the
seat wide and roomy, a church paper, some notes for the Bishop's next
sermon and a copy of Quo Vadis. I just snuggled down, trust me. I
leaned far back and lay low. When I did peek out the window, I saw the
man with the brass buttons and the cap turning to go inside again.

Victory! He had lost the scent. Who would look for Nancy Olden in the
Bishop's carriage?

Now, you know how early I got up yesterday to catch the train so's Tom
and I could come in with the people and be naturally mingling with
them? And you remember the dance the night before? I hadn't had more
than three hours' sleep, and the snug warmth of that coach was just
nuts to me, after the freezing ride into town. I didn't dare get out
for fear of some other man in a cap and buttons somewhere on the
lookout. I knew they couldn't be on to my hiding-place or they'd have
nabbed me before this. After a bit I didn't want to get out, I was so
warm and comfortable--and elegant. O Tom, you should have seen your
Nance in that coat and in the Bishop's carriage!

First thing I knew, I was dreaming you and I were being married, and
you had brass buttons all over you, and I had the cloak all right, but
it was a wedding-dress, and the chinchilla was a wormy sort of orange
blossoms, and--and I waked when the handle of the door turned and the
Bishop got in.

Asleep? That's what! I'd actually bee