llows of small, lean
hands, and gazed at him unflinchingly.

"Thank you," said the Bishop, sobering at once, but laughter still in
his eyes. "Will you be kind enough to tell me then, Eleanor, who is
Dick?"

Eleanor looked astonished, "You don't know anybody much, do you?" and
there was gentle pity in her voice. "Why, Dick, he's--why, he's--why,
you see, he's my friend. I don't know his uvver names, but Mr. Fielding,
he's Dick's favver."

"Oh!" said the Bishop with comprehension. "Dick Fielding. Then Dick is
my friend, too. And people that are friends to the same people should
be friends to each other--that's geometry, Eleanor, though it's
possibly not life."

"Huh?" Eleanor stared, puzzled.

"Will you be friends with me, Eleanor Gray? I knew your mother a long
time ago, when she was Eleanor Gray." Eleanor yawned frankly. That might
be true, but it did not appear to her remarkable or interesting. The
deep voice went on, with a moment's interval. "Where is your mother? Is
she here?"

Eleanor laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Don't you know? What a funny man
you are--you know such a few things. My muvver's up in heaven. She went
when I was a baby, long, _long_ ago. I reckon she must have flewed," she
added, reflectively, raising clear eyes to the pale, heat-worn sky that
gleamed through the branches.

The Bishop's big hands went up to his face suddenly, and the strong
fingers clasped tensely above his forehead. Between his wrists one could
see that his mouth was set in a hard line. "Dead!" he said. "And I never
knew it."

Eleanor dug a small russet heel unconcernedly into the ground.
"Naughty, naughty, naughty little grasshopper," she began to chant,
addressing an unconscious insect near the heel. "Don't you go and crawl
up on the Bishop. No, just don't you. 'Cause if you do, oh, naughty
grasshopper, I'll scrunch you!" with a vicious snap on the "scrunch."

The Bishop lowered his hands and looked at her. "I'm not being very
interesting, Eleanor, am I?"

"Not very," Eleanor admitted. "Couldn't you be some more int'rstin'?"

"I'll try," said the Bishop. "But be careful not to hurt the poor
grasshopper. Because, you know, some people say that if he is a good
grasshopper for a long time, then when he dies his little soul will go
into a better body--perhaps a butterfly's body next time."

Eleanor caught the thought instantly. "And if he's a good butterfly,
then what'll he be? A hummin'-bird? Let's kill him quick, an