"No, madam," returned the other, "he did not, but I feel sure that the sum will be measured by his satisfaction in knowing that his existence is entirely freed from me."

"Really," said Mrs. Archibald, "there is nothing about you so indefinite as your prospects."

"And it seems horrible to me," said Margery, "to be hoping that some one may die in order that you may be better off, for, as you want money so much, you must hope that your uncle will die."

The bishop smiled and rose. "And now," said he, "I suppose I must go to prepare the dinner at Camp Roy. There is n.o.body but myself to eat it, but I have a.s.sumed the duty, and it must be performed. Good-morning. By your leave, I shall look in upon you again."

Mrs. Archibald had a mind to ask him to stay and dine with them, but having noticed an unfriendly expression on the face of Martin when his gloomy walk brought him in her direction, she thought it would not be wise to do so.

CHAPTER XI

MARGERY TAKES THE OARS

After dinner Mrs. Archibald prepared herself for a nap, the most delightful thing she could think of during the warm hours of such a day.

Margery, after seeing the elder lady comfortably disposed in the shady sitting-room of the cabin, went out-of-doors with no doubt in her mind as to what would be for her the most delightful thing to do. She would take a row on the lake all by herself.

She went down to the boat, which was partly drawn up on the beach and fastened to a heavy stake. But when she reached it she was disgusted to find that the chain was secured to the stake by a padlock. The oars were in the boat, and she could easily have pushed it into the water, but she could not set it free without the key to the padlock.

"I do believe," she exclaimed, "that the will of that horrid Mr. Sadler is like gas. It goes everywhere, even to the tops of the houses and under the beds." But she did not give up her intention. She tried to detach the chain from the boat, but finding this impossible, she thought of going for Martin. Perhaps he might have a key. This idea, however, she quickly put aside. If he had a key, and gave it to her, she might get him into trouble, and, besides, she did not believe that he would let her go alone, and in any other way she did not wish to go. Standing with her pretty brows knit, and one heel deep in the soft ground into which she had stamped it, she heard approaching footsteps, and turning, saw the bishop.

He came forward with a buoyant step.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Dearborn?" he said. "Do you wish to go out on the lake? Do you want some one to row you?"

"Yes and no," said Margery. "I want to go out in the boat, and I don't want anybody to row me. But that chain is fastened with an abominable padlock, and I cannot launch the boat."

"One of your guides is here," said he. "Perhaps I can get a key from him."

"No, no," said Margery, quickly; "he must not know about it. There is a Sadler law against it, and he is employed by Sadler."

"It is very securely fastened," said the bishop, examining the lock and chain. "It is the work of the guide Matlack, I have no doubt. But, Miss Dearborn," said he, with a bright smile, "there is a boat at Camp Roy.

That is not locked, and I can bring it here in twenty minutes."

"No," said Margery; "I don't want that boat. I've seen it. It is a clumsy old thing, and, besides, it leaks. I want this one. This is just the kind of boat I want to row. It is too bad! If I could get off now there would be n.o.body to hinder me, for Martin is washing the dinner dishes, or doing something of that kind, and whenever he does house-work he always keeps himself out of sight."

The bishop examined the stake. It was a stout little tree trunk driven deep into the ground and projecting about five feet above the surface, with the chain so wrapped around it that it was impossible to force it up or down. Seizing the stake near the top, the bishop began to push it backward and forward, and being a man of great strength, he soon loosened it so much that, stooping, he was able to pull it from the ground.

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Margery. "It came up just like pulling a tooth."

"Yes," said the radiant bishop, "the good Matlack may be very careful about fastening a boat, but I think I have got the better of him this time; and now I will put the stake, chain and all, in the bow. That is the best way of disposing of them. Are you sure that you prefer going alone? I shall be delighted to row you if you wish me to."

"Oh no," said Margery; "I am just wild to row myself, and I want to hurry and get off for fear Martin will be coming down here."

"Are you sure you understand rowing and the management of a boat?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she replied, "I can row; of course I can. I will get in, and then you can push off the boat."

"Allow me," said the bishop. But before he could reach her to help her, Margery stepped quickly into the boat and was about to seat herself.

"If you will take the seat next to the stern," said the bishop, holding the boat so that it would be steady, "I think that will be better. Then the weight of the stake in the bow will put the boat on an even keel."

"All right," said Margery, accepting his suggestion and seating herself.

"Now just wait until I get the oars into the rowlocks, and then you can push me off."

"Which way do you intend to row?" asked the bishop.

"Oh, I shall go down towards the lower end of the lake, because that way there are more bushes along the banks and Martin will be less apt to see me. If I go the other way I will be in plain sight of the camp, and he may think he ought to do something--fire a gun across my bows to bring me to, maybe, as they do at sea."

"Hardly," said the bishop, "but let me advise you not to go very far from the sh.o.r.e, so that if you feel tired you can come in easily, and if you will allow me I will walk down the sh.o.r.e in the direction in which you intend to row."

"Oh, I am not going to get tired," said she. "I could row all day. It is splendid to be in a boat all by myself and have the whole management of it. Now please push me off."

With some reluctance, but with a sincere desire to make the young girl happy, which could not be overcome by prudence--at least by such prudence as he possessed--the bishop, with a strong, steady push, sent the boat well out on the surface of the water.

"That was beautifully done," Margery called back to him. "Now I have room enough to turn around without any trouble at all."

She turned the boat about with its bow towards the lower end of the lake, but it was not done without trouble. "I have not rowed for a good while,"

she said, "but I am getting used to the oars already. Now then, I'm off,"

and she began to pull with a strength which, had it been suitably paired with skill, would have made her an excellent amateur oarswoman. But the place of skill was supplied by enthusiasm and determination. Once or twice an oar slipped from the rowlock and she nearly went over backward, and several times one of the blades got under the water with the flat side up, so that she had difficulty in getting it out. She raised her oars much too high in the air, but she counterbalanced this by sinking them very deep into the water. But she got on, and although her course was somewhat irregular, its general trend was in the direction desired.

The bishop walked along the bank, keeping as near to the water as he could. Sometimes ma.s.ses of shrubbery shut off all view of the lake, and then there would be an open s.p.a.ce where he would stop and watch the boat.

"Please keep near the sh.o.r.e, Miss Dearborn," he called, "that will be better, I think, and it is certainly more shady and pleasant than farther out."

"I know what you mean," cried Margery, pulling away in high good-humor, "you think it is safer near the sh.o.r.e; but I am not going to row very far this time, and after a little while I may pull the boat in and rest for a time before starting back," and then she rowed on with renewed energy.

The next time the bishop was able to hail the boat, it was at a point where he was obliged to push his way through the bushes in order to see out upon the lake.

"Miss Dearborn," he called, "I think you are a great deal too far from sh.o.r.e, and you must be getting very tired and hot. Your face is greatly flushed. I will hurry along and see if I can find a good place for you to stop and cool yourself."

"I am all right," cried Margery, resting on her oars. "I get along very well, only the boat doesn't steer properly. I think it is because of the weight of that stick in the bow. I suppose I cannot get rid of it?"

"Oh no!" cried the bishop, in alarm; "please don't think of it! But if you touch sh.o.r.e at the first open s.p.a.ce, I think I can arrange it better for you."

"Very good," said she; "you go ahead and find such a place, and I will come in."

"If you touch sh.o.r.e," said the bishop to himself, "you don't go out again in that boat alone! You don't know how to row at all."

The bishop ran a hundred yards or more before he found a place at which a boat could be beached. It was not a very good place, but if he could reach out and seize the bow, that would be enough for him. He was strong enough to pull that boat over a paved street.

As he looked out over the water he saw that Margery had progressed considerably since he had seen her last, but she was still farther from sh.o.r.e than before.

"Row straight towards me!" he shouted. "Here is a fine landing-place, cool and shady."

She looked around and managed to turn the boat's head in his direction.