"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 Sunday morning church as two." "So you expended two cuts to escape me?" he asked with a smile. "Oh, it wasn't you," Patty remonstrated hastily. "It was just--the obligatoriness. And besides," she added frankly, "my legitimate cuts were used up days ago, and when I once begin over-cutting, I am reckless." "And may I ask what happens when you over-cut?" the bishop inquired. "Well," said Patty, "there are proctors, you know, that mark you when you are absent; and then, if they find that you've over-cut, the Self-Government Committee calls you up and asks the reason. If you can't produce a good excuse you are deprived of your privileges for a month, and you can't be on committees or in plays or get leave of absence to go out of town." "I see," said the bishop; "and will you have to suffer all of those penalties?" "Oh, no," said Patty, comfortably; "I shall produce a good excuse." "What will you say?" he inquired. "I don't know, exactly; I shall have to depend on the inspiration of the moment." The bishop regarded her quizzically. "Do you mean," he asked, "that, having broken the rule, you intend to evade the penalty by--to put it flatly--a falsehood?" "Oh, no, bishop," said Patty, in a shocked tone. "Of course I shall tell the truth, only"--she looked up in the bishop's face with an irresistible smile--"the committee probably won't understand it." For an instant the bishop's face relaxed, and then he grew grave again. "By a subterfuge?" he asked. "Y-yes," acknowledged Patty; "I suppose you _might_ call it a subterfuge. I dare say I am pretty bad," she added, "but you have to have a reputation for something in a place like this or you get overlooked. I can't compete in goodness or in athletics or in anything like that, so there's nothing left for me but to surpass in badness--I have quite a gift for it." The corners of the bishop's mouth twitched. "You don't look like one with a criminal record." "I'm young yet," said Patty. "It hasn't commenced to show."