er prayers backwards. His Lordship accordingly
went to London, and disappeared for a month--ostensibly to Scotland, in
reality to America; and no one on the Allan liner suspected for a moment
that the little man in civilian's clothes, whose name appeared on the
passenger-list as Mr. Banborough, was the Bishop of Blanford.

His thirty days of grace allowed him but two weeks in the States, and
here fortune seemed to have deserted him, for, on his arrival, he
learned that his son had gone South. A wild-goose chase to Washington
consumed much valuable time, and, with only forty-eight hours to spare,
he arrived at Cecil's quarters in New York on the day when that young
gentleman was madly driving a Black Maria out of the city.

Discouraged and disheartened at his lack of success, the Bishop took a
train for Montreal, and found himself, about ten o'clock on that
evening, owing to faulty orders and a misplaced switch, stranded at a
little station just on the dividing line between Canada and the United
States.

"And when can I proceed on my journey to Montreal?" he queried of the
station-master.

"Sure I don't know," responded that individual briefly. "We're bound to
get things cleared for the White Mountain Express if possible."

"And when is it due?" asked his Lordship.

"Eleven forty-five A.M., if she's on time."

"I think," said the Bishop, "that I'll remain for the night, and go on
at a more seasonable hour to-morrow. Is there any one here who can put
me up?"

The station-master scratched his head in perplexity, glancing off to the
horizon where glimmered a few lights from scattered farmhouses.

"I dunno what to say," he replied. "I reckon Deacon Perkins would have
put you up," pointing to the nearest light, some mile and a half
distant, which at that moment disappeared, "but," added the official,
"it looks as if he'd gone to bed. Folks don't stay up late round here.
There ain't much to do."

"But," protested his Lordship, "there's a story over this office. Surely
you can arrange something for me."

"Well, you see it's this way," said the man. "There's two police
officers and a journalist has reserved it for to-night, 'cause they's on
the lookout for a batch of prisoners 'scaping to Canada. But if so be's
you wouldn't mind sleeping in the refreshment-room, I could let you have
a mattress, and make you up a tidy bed under the bar."

The Bishop reflected that, though such quarters were hardly in keeping
with t