le rustic seat under a tree, and he
smiled upon the one and dropped down upon the other with a sigh of
content.

"A beautiful view," he gasped; "but a very steep hill."

"It is steep," Patty agreed politely; and as there seemed to be no
chance of escape, she resumed her seat and added, with a laugh: "I have
just run away from you, Bishop Copeley, and here you come following
along behind like an accusing conscience."

The bishop chuckled. "I've run away myself," he returned; "I knew I
should have to be introduced to a hundred or so of you after service,
so I just slipped out the back way for a quiet stroll."

Patty eyed him appreciatively, with a new sense of fellow-feeling.

"I should like to have run away from church as well," he confessed, with
a twinkle in his eye. "Out of doors is the best church on a day like
this."

"That's what I think," said Patty, cordially; "but I had no idea that
bishops were so sensible."

They chatted along in a friendly manner on various subjects, and
exchanged lay opinions on the college and the clergy.

"It's a funny thing about this place," said Patty, ruminatingly, "that,
though we have a different preacher every Sunday, we always have the
same sermon."

"The same sermon?" inquired the bishop, somewhat aghast.

"Practically the same," said Patty. "I've heard it for four years, and I
think I could almost preach it myself. They all seem to think, you know,
that because we come to college we must be monsters of reason, and they
urge us to remember that reason and science are not the only things that
count in the world--that feeling is, after all, the main factor; and
they quote a little poem about the flower being beautiful, I know not
why. That wasn't what yours was about?" she asked anxiously.

"Not this time," said the bishop; "I preached an old one."

"It's the best way," said Patty. "We're human beings, if we do come to
college. I remember once we had a man from Yale or Harvard or some such
place, and he preached an old sermon: he urged us to become more manly.
It was very refreshing."

The bishop smiled. "Do you run away from church very often?" he inquired
mildly.

"No; I don't have a chance when I room with Priscilla. But obligatory
chapel makes you want to run away," she added. "It's not the chapel I
object to; it's the obligatoriness."

"But you have a system of--er--cuts," he suggested.

"Three a month," said Patty, sadly. "Evening chapel counts as one, but