BOOKS BY SIR ARTHUR T. QUILLER-COUCH 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Brother Copas net, $1.20 
 
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 I Saw Three Ships, and Other Winter 
 
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 la. [Ivory Series] .75
 
 BROTHER COPAS
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH 
 C'Q") 
 
 'And a little Child shall lead them." 
 
 ISAIAH xi. 6. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK ::::::::: 1911
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1911, BT 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published April, 1911
 
 TO THE GENTLE READER 
 
 IN a former book of mine, Sir John Constantino, I 
 expressed (perhaps extravagantly) my faith in my 
 fellows and in their capacity to treat life as a noble 
 sport. In Brother Copas I try to express something 
 of that correlative scorn which must come sooner or 
 later to every man who puts his faith into practice. 
 I hold the faith still; but that 
 
 "He who would love his fellow men 
 Must not expect too much of them" 
 
 is good counsel if bad rhyme. I can only hope that 
 both the faith and the scorn are sound at the core. 
 
 For the rest, I wish to state that St. Hospital is a 
 society which never existed. I have borrowed for it 
 certain external features from the Hospital of St. Cross, 
 near Winchester. I have invented a few external and 
 all the internal ones. My " College of Noble Poverty " 
 harbours abuses from which, I dare to say, that noble 
 institution is entirely free. St. Hospital has no exist- 
 ence at all outside of my imagining. 
 
 ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH 
 
 THE HAVEN TOWER 
 Feb. 16th, 1911 
 
 2019724
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL .... 1 
 
 II. THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY . . 12 
 
 III. BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH ... 29 
 
 IV. CORONA COMES 42 
 
 V. BROTHER COPAS ON RELIGIOUS DIFFER- 
 ENCE 56 
 
 VI. GAUDY DAY 71 
 
 VII. Low AND HIGH TABLES 82 
 
 VIII. A PEACE-OFFERING 97 
 
 IX. BY MERE RIVER 105 
 
 X. THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 117 
 
 XI. BROTHER COPAS ON THE ANGLO-SAXON . 130 
 
 XII. MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE .... 140 
 
 XIII. GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 150 
 
 XIV. BROTHER COPAS ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 166 
 XV. CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 175 
 
 XVI. THE SECOND LETTER 184 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XVII. PUPPETS 193 
 
 XVIII. THE PERVIGILIUM 208 
 
 XIX. MERCHESTER PREPARES 216 
 
 XX. NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL .... 234 
 
 XXI. RECONCILIATION 249 
 
 XXII. MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST . 261 
 
 XXIII. CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 273 
 
 XXIV. FINIS CORONAT OPUS 285 
 
 CONCLUSION , 299
 
 BROTHER COPAS
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 "As poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, 
 and yet possessing all things . . ." 
 
 The Honourable and Reverend Eustace John 
 Wriothesley Blanchminster, D.D., Master of St. Hos- 
 pital-by-Merton, sat in the oriel of his library revis- 
 ing his Trinity Gaudy Sermon. He took pains with 
 these annual sermons, having a quick and fastidi- 
 ous sense of literary style. " It is," he would observe, 
 "one of the few pleasurable capacities spared by old 
 age." He had, moreover, a scholarly habit of verify- 
 ing his references and quotations; and if the original, 
 however familiar, happened to be in a dead or foreign 
 language, would have his secretary indite it in the 
 margin. His secretary, Mr. Simeon, after taking the 
 Sermon down from dictation, had made out a fair 
 copy, and stood now at a little distance from the cor- 
 ner of the writing-table, in a deferential attitude. 
 1
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 The Master leaned forward over the manuscript; 
 and a ray of afternoon sunshine, stealing in between 
 a mullion of the oriel and the edge of a drawn blind, 
 touched his bowed and silvery head as if with a bene- 
 diction. He was in his seventy-third year; lineal and 
 sole-surviving descendant of that Alberic de Blanch- 
 minster (Albericus de Albo Monasterio) who had 
 founded this Hospital of Christ's Poor in 1137, and 
 the dearest, most distinguished-looking old clergyman 
 imaginable. An American lady had once summed 
 him up as a Doctor of Divinity in Dresden china; and 
 there was much to be allowed to the simile when you 
 noted his hands, so shapely and fragile, or his com- 
 plexion, transparent as old ivory and still more if 
 you had leisure to observe his saintliness, so delicately 
 attuned to this world. 
 
 "As having nothing, and yet possessing all things." 
 The Master laid his forefinger upon the page and 
 looked up reproachfully. " &>? prjSev e^oi/re? my good 
 Simeon, is it possible? A word so common as a*?! 
 and after all these years you make it peris pomenon!" 
 
 Mr. Simeon stammered contrition. In the matter 
 of Greek accents he knew himself to be untrust- 
 worthy beyond hope. " I can't tell how it is, sir, but 
 that w9 always seems to me to want a circumflex, being 
 an adverb of sorts." On top of this, and to make 
 things worse, he pleaded that he had left out the ac- 
 cent in o><? TTTo^ot', just above. 
 2
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 "H'm as poor, and yet thankful for small mer- 
 cies," commented the Master with gentle sarcasm. 
 He had learnt in his long life to economise anger. 
 But he frowned as he dipped a pen in the inkpot and 
 made the correction; for he was dainty about his 
 manuscripts as about all the furniture of life, and a 
 blot or an erasure annoyed him. "Brother Copas," 
 he murmured, "never misplaces an accent." 
 
 Mr. Simeon heard, and started. It was incredible 
 that the Master, who five-and-twenty years ago had 
 rescued Mr. Simeon from a school for poor choristers 
 and had him specially educated for the sake of his 
 exquisite handwriting, could be threatening dismissal 
 over a circumflex. Oh, there was no danger! If 
 long and (until the other day) faithful service were 
 not sufficient, at least there was guarantee in the 
 good patron's sense of benefits conferred. Moreover, 
 Brother Copas was not desirable as an amanuensis. 
 . . . None the less, poor men with long families 
 will start at the shadow of a fear; and Mr. Simeon 
 started. 
 
 "Master," he said humbly, choosing the title by 
 which his patron liked to be addressed, "I think 
 Greek accents must come by gift of the Lord." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 The Master glanced up. 
 
 "I mean, sir" Mr. Simeon extended a trembling 
 hand and rested his fingers on the edge of the wri- 
 3
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 ting-table for support " that one man is born with a 
 feeling for them, so to speak; while another, though 
 you may teach and teach him ' 
 
 " In other words," said the Master, " they come by 
 breeding. It is very likely." 
 
 He resumed his reading; 
 
 " ' and yet possessing all things. We may fancy 
 St. Paul's actual words present in the mind of our 
 Second Founder, the Cardinal Beauchamp, as their 
 spirit assuredly moved him, when he named our be- 
 loved house the College of Noble Poverty. His prede- 
 cessor, Alberic de Blanchminster, had called it after 
 Christ's Poor; and the one title, to be sure, rests implicit 
 in the other; for the condescension wherewith Christ 
 made choice of His associates on earth has for ever dig- 
 nified Poverty in the eyes of His true followers.' 
 
 "And you have spelt 'his* with a capital *H' 
 when you know my dislike of that practice!" 
 
 Poor Mr. Simeon was certainly not in luck to-day. 
 The truth is that, frightened by the prospect of yet 
 another addition to his family (this would be his 
 seventh child), he had hired out his needy pen to one 
 of the Canons Residentiary of Merchester, who in- 
 sisted on using capitals upon all parts of speech re- 
 ferring, however remotely, to either of the Divine Per- 
 sons. The Master, who despised Canon Tarbolt for 
 a vulgar pulpiteer, and barely nodded to him in the 
 street, was not likely to get wind of this mercenage; 
 4
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 but if ever he did, there would be trouble. As it was, 
 the serving of two masters afflicted Mr. Simeon's con- 
 science while it distracted his pen. 
 
 "I will make another fair copy," he suggested. 
 
 " I fear you must. Would you mind drawing back 
 that curtain ? My eyes are troublesome this afternoon. 
 Thank you." 
 
 " ' Nevertheless it was well done of the great church- 
 man to declare his belief that the poor, as poor, are not 
 only blessed as Our Lord expressly says but noble, 
 as Our Lord implicitly taught. Nay, the suggestion 
 is not perhaps far-fetched that as Cardinal Beauchamp 
 had great possessions, he took this occasion to testify 
 how in his heart he slighted them. Or again for his- 
 tory seems to prove that he was not an entirely scrupu- 
 lous man, nor entirely untainted by self-seeking that 
 his tribute to Noble Poverty may have been the asser- 
 tion, by a spirit netted among the briars of this world's 
 policy, that at least it saw and suspired after the way to 
 Heaven. Video meliora, proboque 
 
 "O limed soul, that struggling to be free 
 Art more engaged!" 
 
 " ' But he is with God: and while we conjecture, God 
 knows. 
 
 1 'Lest, however, you should doubt that the finer 
 spirit* of this world have found Poverty not merely en- 
 durable but essentially noble, let me recall to you an 
 5
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 anecdote of Saint Francis of Assisi. It is related that, 
 travelling towards France with a companion, Brother 
 Masseo, he one day entered a town wherethrough they 
 both begged their way, as their custom was, taking 
 separate streets. Meeting again on the other side of 
 the town, they spread out their alms on a broad stone 
 by the wayside, whereby a fair fountain ran; and Fran- 
 cis rejoiced that Brother Masseo's orts and scraps of 
 bread were larger than his own, saying, " Brother Mas- 
 seo, we are not worthy of such treasure." " But how," 
 asked Brother Masseo, " can one speak of treasure when 
 there is such lack of all things needful f Here have we 
 neither cloth, nor knife, nor plate, nor porringer, nor 
 house, nor table, nor manservant, nor maidservant." 
 Answered Francis, " This and none else it is that I 
 account wide treasure; which containeth nothing pre- 
 pared by human hands, but all we have is of God's own 
 providence as this bread we have begged, set out on a 
 table of stone so fine, beside a fountain so clear. Where- 
 fore," said he, "let us kneel together and pray God to 
 increase our love of this holy Poverty, which is so noble 
 that thereunto God himself became a servitor.' " 
 
 The sun, slanting in past the Banksian roses, 
 touched the edge of a giant amethyst which the Mas- 
 ter wore, by inheritance of office, on his forefinger; 
 and, because his hand trembled a little with age, the 
 gem set the reflected ray dancing in a small pool of 
 light, oval-shaped and wine-coloured, on the white 
 6
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 margin of the sermon. He stared at it for a moment, 
 tracing it mistakenly to a glass of Rh6ne wine a 
 Chdteau Neuf du Pape of a date before the phylloxera 
 that stood neglected on the writing-table. (By his 
 doctor's orders he took a glass of old wine and a 
 biscuit every afternoon at this hour as a gentle di- 
 gestive.) 
 
 Thus reminded, he reached out a hand and raised 
 the wine to his lips, nodding as he sipped. 
 
 " In Common Room, Simeon, we used to say that no 
 man was really educated who preferred Burgundy to 
 claret, but that on the lower Rh6ne all tastes met 
 in one ecstasy. . . . I 'd like to have your opinion on 
 this, now; that is, if you will find the decanter and a 
 glass in the cupboard yonder and if you have no con- 
 scientious objection." 
 
 Mr. Simeon murmured, amid his thanks, that he 
 had no objection. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it. ... Between ourselves, 
 there is always something lacking in an abstainer 
 as in a man who has never learnt Greek. It is diffi- 
 cult with both to say what the lack precisely is; but 
 with both it includes an absolute insensibility to the 
 shortcoming." 
 
 Mr. Simeon could not help wondering if this applied 
 to poor men who abstained of necessity. He thought 
 not; being, for his part, conscious of a number of 
 shortcomings. 
 
 7
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " Spirits," went on the Master, wheeling half-about 
 in his revolving chair and crossing one shapely gait- 
 ered leg over another, " Spirits and especially whisky 
 eat out the health of a man and leave him a sod- 
 den pulp. Beer is honest, but brutalising. Wine 
 certainly any good wine that can trace its origin back 
 beyond the Reformation is one with all good lit- 
 erature, and indeed with civilisation. Antiquam 
 exquirite matrem: all three come from the Mediterra- 
 nean basin or from around it, and it is only the ill- 
 born who contemn descent." 
 
 "Brother Copas ' began Mr. Simeon, and 
 came to a halt. 
 
 He lived sparely; he had fasted for many hours; 
 and standing there he could feel the generous liquor 
 coursing through him nay could almost have re- 
 ported its progress from ganglion to ganglion. He 
 blessed it, and at the same moment breathed a prayer 
 that it might not affect his head. 
 
 "Brother Copas ?" 
 
 Mr. Simeon wished now that he had not begun his 
 sentence. The invigorating Chateau Neuf du Pape 
 seemed to overtake and chase away all uncharitable 
 thoughts. But it was too late. 
 
 " Brother Copas you were saying ? " 
 
 " I ought not to repeat it, sir. But I heard Brother 
 Copas say the other day that the teetotallers were in 
 a hopeless case; being mostly religious men, and yet 
 8
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 having to explain in the last instance why Our Lord, 
 in Cana of Galilee, did not turn the water into ginger- 
 pop." 
 
 The Master frowned and stroked his gaiters. 
 
 "Brother Copas's tongue is too incisive. Some- 
 thing must be forgiven to one who, having started as 
 a scholar and a gentleman, finds himself toward 
 the close of his days dependent on the bread of 
 charity." 
 
 It was benignly spoken; and to Mr. Simeon, who 
 questioned nothing his patron said or did, no shade 
 of misgiving occurred that, taken down in writing, it 
 might annotate somewhat oddly the sermon on the 
 table. It was spoken with insight too, for had not 
 his own poverty, or the fear of it, sharpened Mr. 
 Simeon's tongue just now and prompted him to quote 
 Brother Copas detrimentally? The little man did 
 not shape this accusation clearly against himself, for 
 he had a rambling head; but he had also a sound 
 heart, and it was uneasy. 
 
 " I ought not to have told it, sir. ... I ask you 
 to believe that I have no ill-will against Brother 
 Copas." 
 
 The Master had arisen, and stood gazing out of the 
 window immersed in his own thoughts. 
 
 "Eh? I beg your pardon?" said he absently. 
 
 " I I feared, sir, you might think I said it to his 
 prejudice." 
 
 9
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Prejudice?" the Master repeated, still with his 
 back turned, and still scarcely seeming to hear. 
 "But why in the world? . . . Ah, there he goes! 
 and Brother Bonaday with him. They are off to 
 the river, for Brother Copas carries his rod. What 
 a strange fascination has that dry-fly fishing! And 
 I can remember old anglers discussing it as a craze, 
 a lunacy." 
 
 He gazed out, still in a brown study. The room 
 was silent save for the ticking of a Louis Seize 
 clock on the chimney-piece; and Mr. Simeon, 
 standing attentive, let his eyes travel around upon 
 the glass-fronted bookcases, filled with sober riches 
 in vellum and gilt leather, on the rare prints in black 
 frames, the statuette of Diane Chasseresse, the bust of 
 Antinoiis, the portfolios containing other prints, the 
 Persian carpets scattered about the dark bees'-waxed 
 floor, the Sheraton table with its bowl of odorous 
 peonies. 
 
 "Eh? I beg your pardon " said the Master 
 again after three minutes or so, facing around with 
 a smile of apology. "My wits were wool-gathering, 
 over the sermon that little peroration of mine does 
 not please me somehow I will take a stroll to 
 the home-park and back, and think it over. . . . 
 Thank you, yes, you may gather up the papers. We 
 will do no more work this afternoon." 
 
 "And I will write out another fair copy, sir." 
 10
 
 THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL 
 
 "Yes, certainly; that is to say, of all but the last 
 page. We will take the last page to-morrow." 
 
 For a moment, warmed by the wine and by the 
 Master's cordiality of manner, Mr. Simeon felt a wild 
 impulse to make a clean breast, confess his trafficking 
 with Canon Tarbolt and beg to be forgiven. But his 
 courage failed him. He gathered up his papers, 
 bowed and made his escape. 
 
 11
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 IF a foreigner would apprehend (he can never com- 
 prehend) this England of ours, with her dear and 
 ancient graces, and her foibles as ancient and hardly 
 less dear; her law-abidingness, her staid, God-fearing 
 citizenship; her parochialism whereby (to use a Greek 
 idiom) she perpetually escapes her own notice being 
 empress of the world; her inveterate snobbery, her 
 incurable habit of mistaking symbols and words for 
 realities; above all, her spacious and beautiful sense 
 of time as builder, healer and only perfecter of 
 worldly things; let him go visit the Cathedral City, 
 sometime the Royal City, of Merchester. He will 
 find it all there, enclosed and casketed "a box where 
 sweets compacted lie." 
 
 Let him arrive on a Saturday night and awake 
 next morning to the note of the Cathedral bell, and 
 hear the bugles answering from the barracks up 
 the hill beyond the mediaeval gateway. As he sits 
 down to breakfast the bugles will start sounding 
 nigher, with music absurd and barbarous, but 
 12
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 stirring, as the riflemen come marching down the 
 High Street to Divine Service. In the Minster to 
 which they wend, their disused regimental colours 
 droop along the aisles; tattered, a hundred years 
 since, in Spanish battlefields, and by age worn almost 
 to gauze "strainers," says Brother Copas, "that 
 in their time have clarified much turbid blood." 
 But these are guerdons of yesterday in comparison 
 with other relics the Minster guards. There is royal 
 dust among them Saxon and Dane and Norman 
 housed in painted chests above the choir stalls. 
 "Quare fremuerunt gentesf" intone the choristers' 
 voices below, Mr. Simeon's weak but accurate tenor 
 among them. " The kings of the earth stand up, and 
 the rulers take counsel together ..." The riflemen 
 march down to listen. As they go by ta-ra-ing, the 
 douce citizens of Merchester and their wives and 
 daughters admire from the windows discreetly; but 
 will attend their Divine Service later. This, again, 
 is England. 
 
 Sundays and weekdays at intervals the Cathedral 
 organ throbs across the Close, gently shaking the 
 windows of the Deanery and the canons' houses, and 
 interrupting the chatter of sparrows in their ivy. 
 Twice or thrice annually a less levitical noise invades, 
 when our State visits its Church; in other words, 
 when with trumpeters and javelin-men the High 
 Sheriff escorts His Majesty's Judges to hear the 
 13
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Assize Sermon. On these occasions the head boy 
 of the great School, which lies a little to the south 
 of the Cathedral, by custom presents a paper to the 
 learned judge, suing for a school holiday; and his 
 lordship, brushing up his Latinity, makes a point of 
 acceding in the best hexameters he can contrive. At 
 his time of life it comes easier to try prisoners; and 
 if he lie awake, he is haunted less by his day in Court 
 than by the fear of a false quantity. 
 
 The School with its fourteenth-century quad- 
 rangles, fenced citywards behind a blank brewhouse- 
 wall (as though its founder's first precaution had been 
 to protect learning from seige), and its precincts open- 
 ing rearwards upon green playing-fields and river- 
 meads is like few schools in England, and none 
 in any other country; and is proud of its sin- 
 gularity. It, too, has its stream of life, and on the 
 whole a very gracious one, with its young, careless 
 voices and high spirits. It lies, as I say, south of 
 the Close; beyond the northward fringe of which 
 you penetrate under archway or by narrow entry to 
 the High Street, where another and different tide 
 comes and goes, with mild hubbub of carts, carriages, 
 motors ladies shopping, magistrates and county 
 councillors bent on busimess of the shire, farmers, 
 traders, marketers. . . . This traffic, too, is all very 
 English and ruddy and orderly. 
 
 Through it all, picturesque and respected, pass and 
 14
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 repass the bedesmen of St. Hospital: the Blanch- 
 minster Brethren in black gowns with a silver cross 
 worn at the breast, the Beauchamp Brethren in gowns 
 of claret colour with a silver rose. The terms of the 
 twin bequests are not quite the same. To be a 
 Collegian of Christ's Poor it is enough that you have 
 attained the age of sixty-five, so reduced in strength 
 as to be incapable of work; whereas you can become 
 a Collegian of Noble Poverty at sixty, but with the 
 proviso that misfortune has reduced you from in- 
 dependence (that is to say, from a moderate estate). 
 The Beauchamp Brethren, who are the fewer, incline 
 to give themselves airs over the Blanchminsters on 
 the strength of this distinction: like Dogberry, in 
 their time they have "had losses." But Merchester 
 takes, perhaps, an equal pride in the pensioners of 
 both orders. 
 
 Merchester takes an even fonder pride in St. 
 Hospital itself that compact and exquisite group 
 of buildings, for the most part Norman, set in the 
 water-meadows among the ambient streams of Mere. 
 It lies a mile or so southward of the town, and 
 some distance below the School, where the valley 
 widens between the chalk-hills and, inland yet, you 
 feel a premonition that the sea is not far away. All 
 visitors to Merchester are directed towards St. Hos- 
 pital and they dote over it the American visi- 
 tors especially; because nowhere in England can 
 15
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 one find the Middle Ages more compendiously sum- 
 marised or more charmingly illustrated. Almost it 
 might be a toy model of those times, with some of 
 their quaintest customs kept going in smooth work- 
 ing order. But it is better. It is the real thing, gen- 
 uinely surviving. No visitor ever finds disappoint- 
 ment in a pilgrimage to St. Hospital: the inmates 
 take care of that. 
 
 The trustees, or governing body, are careful too. 
 A few years ago, finding that his old lodgings in the 
 quadrangle were too narrow for the Master's comfort, 
 they erected a fine new house for him, just without the 
 precincts. But though separated from the Hospital 
 by a roadway, this new house comes into the picture 
 from many points of view, and therefore not only 
 did the architect receive instructions to harmonise it 
 with the ancient buildings, but where he left off the 
 trustees succeeded, planting wistarias, tall roses and 
 selected ivies to run up the coigns and mullions. 
 Nay, it is told that to encourage the growth of moss 
 they washed over a portion of the walls (the servants' 
 quarters) with a weak solution of farmyard manure. 
 These conscientious pains have their reward, for to- 
 day, at a little distance, the Master's house appears 
 no less ancient than the rest of the mediceval pile 
 with which it composes so admirably. 
 
 With the Master himself we have made acquaint- 
 ance. In the words of an American magazine, " the 
 16
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 principal of this old-time foundation, Master E. J. 
 Wriothesley (pronounced ' Wrottesley') Blanchmin- 
 ster, may be allowed to fill the bill. He is founder's 
 kin, and just sweet." 
 
 The Master stepped forth from his rose-garlanded 
 porch, crossed the road, and catered the modest 
 archway which opens on the first, or outer, court. He 
 walked habitually at a short trot, with his head and 
 shoulders thrust a little forward and his hands 
 clasped behind him. He never used a walking-stick. 
 
 The outer court of St. Hospital is plain and un- 
 pretending, with a brewhouse on one hand and 
 on the other the large kitchen with its offices. Be- 
 tween these the good Master passed, and came to a 
 second and handsomer gate, with a tower above it, 
 and three canopied niches in the face of the tower, 
 and in one of the niches the others are empty a 
 kneeling figure of the great Cardinal himself. The 
 passage-way through the tower is vaulted and richly 
 groined, and in a little chamber beside it dwells the 
 porter, a part of whose duty it is to distribute the 
 Wayfarers' Dole a horn of beer and a manchet of 
 bread to all who choose to ask for it. The Master 
 halted a moment to give the porter good evening. 
 
 "And how many to-day, Brother Manby?" 
 
 "Thirty-three, Master, including a party of twelve 
 that came in motor-cars. I was jealous the cast 
 wouldn't go round, for they all insisted on having the 
 17
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 dole, and a full slice, too the gentlemen declaring 
 they were hungry after their drive. But," added 
 Brother Manby, with a glance at a card affixed by the 
 archway and announcing that tickets to view the hos- 
 pital could be procured at sixpence a head, "they 
 were most appreciative, I must say." 
 
 The master smiled, nodded, and passed on. He 
 gathered that someone had profited by something 
 over and above the twelve sixpences. 
 
 But how gracious, how serenely beautiful, how 
 eloquent of peace and benediction, the scene that 
 met him as he crossed the threshold of the great 
 quadrangle! Some thousands of times his eyes had 
 rested on it, yet how could it ever stale ? 
 
 "In the evening there shall be light." The sun, 
 declining in a cloudless west behind the roof-ridge 
 and tall chimneys of the Brethren's houses, cast a 
 shadow even to the sundial that stood for centre of 
 the wide grass-plot. All else was softest gold 
 gold veiling the sky itself in a powdery haze; gold 
 spread full along the front of the ' Nunnery,' or row of 
 upper chambers on the eastern line of the quadran- 
 gle, where the three nurses of St. Hospital have 
 their lodgings; shafts of gold penetrating the shaded 
 ambulatory below; gold edging the western coigns 
 of the Norman chapel; gold rayed and slanting be- 
 tween boughs in the park beyond the railings to the 
 south. Only the western side of the quadrangle lay 
 18
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 in shadow, and in the shadow, in twos and threes, 
 beside their doors and tiny flower-plots (their pride), 
 sat the Brethren, with no anxieties, with no care but 
 to watch the closing tranquil hour: some with their 
 aged wives (for the Hospital, as the Church of Eng- 
 land with her bishops, allows a Brother to have one 
 wife, but ignores her existence), some in monastic 
 groups, withdrawn from hearing of women's gossip. 
 
 The Master chose the path that, circumventing the 
 grass-plot, led him past these happy-looking groups 
 and couples. To be sure, it was not his nearest way 
 to the home-park, where he intended to think out his 
 peroration; but he had plenty of time, and moreover 
 he delighted to exchange courtesies with his charges. 
 For each he had a greeting 
 
 "Fine weather, fine weather, Brother Dasent! 
 Ah, this is the time to get rid of the rheumatics! 
 Eh, Mrs. Dasent? I haven't seen him looking so 
 hale for months past. 
 
 "A beautiful evening, Brother Clerihew yes, 
 beautiful indeed. . . . You notice how the swal- 
 lows are flying, both high and low, Brother Wool- 
 combe? . . . Yes, I think we are in for a spell 
 of it. 
 
 "Ah, good evening, Mrs. Royle. What wonder- 
 ful ten-week stocks! I declare I cannot grow the 
 like of them in my garden. And what a perfume! 
 But it warns me that the dew is beginning to fall, 
 19
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 and Brother Royle ought not to be sitting out late. 
 We must run no risks, Nurse, after his illness?" 
 
 The Master appealed to a comfortable-looking 
 woman who, at his approach, had been engaged in 
 earnest talk with Mrs. Royle talk to which old 
 Brother Royle appeared to listen placidly, seated 
 in his chair. 
 
 And so on. He had a kindly word for all, and 
 all answered his salutations respectfully; the women 
 bobbing curtseys, the old men offering to rise from 
 their chairs. But this he would by no means allow. 
 His presence seemed to carry with it a fragrance of 
 his own, as real as that of the mignonette and roses 
 and sweet-williams amid which he left them em- 
 bowered. 
 
 When he had passed out of earshot, Brother 
 Clerihew turned to Brother Woolcombe and said 
 
 "The silly old is beginning to show his age, 
 
 seemin' to me." 
 
 " Oughtn 't to, " answered Brother Woolcombe. " If 
 ever a man had a soft job, it 's him." 
 
 "Well, I reckon we don't want to lose him yet, 
 anyhow 'specially if Colt is to step into his old 
 shoes." 
 
 Brother Clerihew's reference was to the Reverend 
 Rufus Colt, Chaplain of St. Hospital. 
 
 "They never would!" opined Brother Woolcombe, 
 20
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 meaning by "they" the governing body of Trus- 
 tees. 
 
 "Oh, you never know with a man on the make, 
 like Colt. Push carries everything in these times." 
 
 "Colt's a hustler," Brother Woolcombe conceded. 
 "But, damn it all, they might give us a gentleman!" 
 
 "There's not enough to go round, nowadays," 
 grunted Brother Clerihew, who had been a butler, 
 and knew. " Master Blanchminster 's the real thing, 
 of course. ..." He gazed after the retreating figure 
 of the Master. " Seemed gay as a gold-finch, he did. 
 D'ye reckon Colt has told him about Warboise?" 
 
 "I wonder. Where is Warboise, by the way?" 
 
 "Down by the river, taking a walk to cool his 
 head. Ibbetson's wife gave him a dressing-down 
 at tea-time for dragging Ibbetson into the row. 
 Threatened to have her nails in his beard I heard 
 her. That woman 's a terror. . . . All the same, 
 one can't help sympathising with her. 'You can 
 stick to your stinking Protestantism/ she told him, 
 ' if it amuses you to fight the Chaplain. You 're a 
 widower, with nobody dependent. But don't you 
 teach my husband to quarrel with his vittles.'" 
 
 "All the same, when a man has convictions " 
 
 "Convictions are well enough when you can 
 
 afford 'em," Brother Clerihew grunted again. "But 
 
 up against Colt what 's the use ? And where 's his 
 
 backing? Ibbetson, with a wife hanging on to his 
 
 21
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 coat-tails; and old Bonaday, that wouldn't hurt a 
 fly; and Copas, standing off and sneering " 
 
 "A man might have all the pains of Golgotha 
 upon him before ever you turned a hair," grum- 
 bled Brother Dasent, a few yards away. 
 
 He writhed in his chair, for the rheumatism was 
 really troublesome; but he over-acted his suffering 
 somewhat, having learnt in forty-five years of married 
 life that his spouse was not over-ready with sympathy. 
 
 "T'cht!" answered she. "I ought to know what 
 they 're like by this time, and I wonder, for my part, 
 you don't try to get accustomed to 'em. Dying one 
 can understand: but to be worrited with a man's ail- 
 ments, noon and night, it gets on the nerves. ..." 
 
 "You're sure?" resumed Mrs. Royle eagerly, but 
 sinking her voice for she could hardly wait until the 
 Master had passed out of earshot. 
 
 "Did you ever know me spread tales?" asked the 
 comfortable-looking Nurse. "Only, mind you, I 
 mentioned it in the strictest secrecy. This is such 
 a scandalous hole, one can't be too careful. . . . 
 But down by the river they were, consorting and 
 God knows what else." 
 
 "At his age, too! Disgusting, I call it." 
 
 "Oh, she '.v not particular! My comfort is I 
 always suspected that woman from the first moment 
 22
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 I set eyes on her. Instinct, I suppose. 'Well, my 
 lady, ' says I, ' if you 're any better than you should 
 be, then I 've lived all these years for nothing.' " 
 
 "And him that looked such a broken-down old 
 innocent!" 
 
 "They get taken that way sometimes." 
 
 Nurse Turner sank her voice and said something 
 salacious, which caused Mrs. Royle to draw a long 
 breath and exclaim that she could never have cred- 
 ited such things not in a Christian land. Her old 
 husband, too, overheard it, and took snuff with a 
 senile chuckle. 
 
 "Gad, that's spicy!" he crooned. 
 
 The Master, at the gateway leading to the home- 
 park, turned for a look back on the quadrangle 
 and the seated figures. Yes, they made an exquisite 
 picture. Here 
 
 "Here where the world is quiet" 
 here, indeed, his ancestor had built a haven of rest. 
 
 "From too much love of living, 
 From hope and fear set free, 
 We thank with brief thanksgiving 
 
 Whatever gods may be 
 That no life lives for ever; 
 That dead men rise up never; 
 That even the weariest river 
 Winds somewhere safe to sea." 
 23
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 As the lines floated across his memory, the Master 
 had a mind to employ them in his peroration (giving 
 them a Christian trend, of course) in place of the 
 sonnet he had meant to quote. This would involve 
 reconstructing a longish paragraph; but they had 
 touched his mood, and he spent some time pacing 
 to and fro under the trees before his taste rejected 
 them as facile and even cheap in comparison with 
 Wordsworth's 
 
 "Men unto whom sufficient for the day, 
 
 And minds not stinted or untill'd are given, 
 Sound healthy children of the God of heaven 
 Are cheerful as the rising sun in May." 
 
 "Yes, yes," murmured the Master, "Wordsworth's 
 is the better. But what a gift, to be able to express 
 a thought just so with that freshness, that noble 
 simplicity! And even with Wordsworth it was fugi 
 tive, lost after four or five marvellous years: no 
 one not a Greek has ever possessed it in perma- 
 nence ..." 
 
 Here he paused at the sound of a footfall on the 
 turf close behind him, and turned about with a 
 slight frown; which readily yielded, however, and 
 became a smile of courtesy. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Colt! Good evening!" 
 
 "Good evening, Master." 
 
 Mr. Colt came up deferentially, yet firmly, much 
 24
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 as a nurse in a good family might collect a straying 
 infant. He was a tall, noticeably well-grown man, 
 a trifle above thirty, clean shaven, with a square 
 and obstinate chin. He wore no hat and his close, 
 black hair showed a straight middle parting above 
 his low and somewhat protuberant forehead. The 
 parting widened at the occiput to a well-kept tonsure. 
 At the back the head wanted balance; and this 
 lent a suggestion of brutality of "thrust" to his 
 abounding appearance of strength. He walked in 
 his priestly black with the gait and carriage proper 
 to a heavy dragoon. 
 
 "A fine evening, indeed. Are you disengaged?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly" in comparison with Mr. 
 Colt's grave voice the Master's was almost a chirrup 
 "whether for business or for the pleasure of a talk. 
 Nothing wrong, I hope?" 
 
 For a moment or two the Chaplain did not answer. 
 He seemed to be weighing his words. At length he 
 said 
 
 "I should have reported at once, but have been 
 thinking it over. At Early Celebration this morning 
 Warboise insulted the wafer." 
 
 "Dear, dear, you don't say so!" 
 
 "Took it from me, held it derisively between 
 
 finger and thumb, and muttered. I could not catch 
 
 all that he said, but I distinctly heard the words 
 
 'biscuit' and 'Antichrist.' Indeed, he confesses to 
 
 25
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 having used them. His demeanour left no doubt 
 that he was insolent of set purpose. ... I should 
 add that Ibbetson, who was kneeling next to him 
 and must have overheard, walked back from the 
 altar-rail straight out of chapel; but his wife assures 
 me that this was purely a coincidence, and due to a 
 sudden weaknesss of the stomach." 
 
 "You have spoken to Warboise?" 
 
 "Yes, and he is defiant. Says that bread is bread, 
 and when I pressed him for a definition asked 
 (insolently again) if the Trustees had authorised our 
 substituting biscuit for bread in the Wayfarer's Dole. 
 Advised us to 'try it on' there, and look out for 
 letters in the Merchester Observer. He even threat- 
 ened if you '11 believe me to write to the Press 
 himself. In short, he was beyond all self-control." 
 
 "I was afraid," murmured the Master, flushing 
 a little in his distress, "you would not introduce 
 this er primitive use or, I should say, restore it 
 without trouble. Brother Warboise has strong 
 Protestant prejudices; passionate, even." 
 
 "And ignorant." 
 
 "Oh, of course, of course! Still 
 
 "I suggest that, living as he does on the Church's 
 benefaction, eating the bread of her charity 
 
 The Chaplain paused, casting about for a third 
 phrase to express Brother W T arboise's poor dependence. 
 
 The Master smiled whimsically. 
 26
 
 THE COLLEGE OF NOBLE POVERTY 
 
 " ' The bread' that 's just it, he would tell you . . . 
 And Alberic de Blanchminster, moreover, was a lay- 
 man, not even in any of the minor orders; so that, 
 strictly speaking " 
 
 " But he left his wealth expressly to be administered 
 by the Church. . . . Will you forgive me, Master, if 
 I repeat very respectfully the suggestion I made at 
 the beginning? If you could see your way to be 
 celebrant at the early office, your mere presence 
 would silence these mutineers. The Brethren respect 
 your authority without question, and, the ice once 
 broken, they would come to heel as one man." 
 
 The Master shook his head tremulously, in too 
 much of a flurry even to note the Chaplain's derange- 
 ment of metaphors. 
 
 You cannot guess how early rising upsets me. 
 Doctor Ainsley, indeed, positively forbids it. ... 
 I can sympathise, you see, with Ibbetson . . . and, 
 for Brother Warboise, let us always remember that 
 St. Hospital was not made, and cannot be altered, 
 in a day even for the better. Like England, it has 
 been built by accretions, by traditions; yes, and by 
 traditions that apparently conflict by that of Brother 
 Ingman, among others. ... * 
 
 * Brother Peter Ingman, a poor pensioner of St. Hospital in 
 the reign of Queen Mary, made profession of the reformed faith, 
 and somehow, in spite of his low estate, received the honour of 
 being burnt alive at the same stake with his diocesan. He is 
 mentioned in all the guide-books. 
 
 27
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "We who love St. Hospital," continued the Mas- 
 ter, still tremulously, "have, I doubt not, each his 
 different sense of the genius loci. Warboise finds it, 
 we '11 say, in the person of Peter Ingman, Protestant 
 and martyr. But I don't defend his behaviour. I 
 will send for him to-morrow, and talk to him. I will 
 talk to him very severely."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 "WELL," said Brother Copas, "since the fish are 
 not rising, let us talk. Or rather, you can tell me 
 all about it while I practise casting. ... By what 
 boat is she coming?" 
 
 "By the Carnatic, and due some time to-morrow. 
 I saw it in the newspaper." 
 
 "Well ? " prompted Brother Copas, glancimg back 
 over his shoulder as Brother Bonaday came to a halt. 
 
 The bent little man seemed to have lost the thread 
 of his speech as he stood letting his gentle, tired eyes 
 follow the flight of the swallows swooping and circling 
 low along the river and over the meadow-grasses. 
 
 "Well? " prompted Brother Copas again. 
 
 "Nurse Branscome will go down to meet her." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I am hoping the Master will let her have my 
 spare room," said Brother Bonaday vaguely. 
 
 Here it should be explained that when the Trustees 
 erected a new house for the Master his old lodgings 
 in the quadrangle had been carved into sets of 
 29
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 chambers for half a dozen additional Brethren, and 
 that one of these, differing only from the rest in that 
 it contained a small spare room, had chanced to be 
 allotted to Brother Bonaday. He had not applied 
 for it, and it had grieved him to find his promotion 
 resented by certain of the Brethren, who let slip few 
 occasions for envy. For the spare room had been 
 quite useless to him until now. Now he began to 
 think it might be, after all, a special gift of Provi- 
 dence. 
 
 "You have spoken to the Master?" asked Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 "No: that is to say, not yet.'* 
 
 "What if he refuses?" 
 
 "It will be very awkward. I shall hardly know 
 what to do. . . . Find her some lodging in the tow r n, 
 perhaps; there seems no other way." 
 
 " You should have applied to the Master at once. " 
 
 Brother Bonaday considered this, while his eyes 
 wandered. 
 
 "But why?" he asked. "The boat had sailed be- 
 fore the letter reached me. She was already on her 
 way. Yes or no, it could make no difference." 
 
 "It makes this difference: suppose that the Master 
 refuses, you have lost four days in which you might 
 have found her a suitable lodging. What 's the child's 
 name, by the by?" 
 
 "Corona, it seems." 
 
 30
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 "Seems?" 
 
 "She was born just after her mother left me and 
 went to America, having a little money of her own 
 saved out of our troubles." Again Brother Copas, 
 in the act of making a cast, glanced back over his 
 shoulder, but Brother Bonaday's eyes were on the 
 swallows. "In 1902 it was, the year of King Ed- 
 ward's coronation: yes that will be why my wife 
 chose the name. . . . I suppose, as you say, " Brother 
 Bonaday went on after a pause, "I ought to have 
 spoken to the Master at once; but I put it off, the 
 past being painful to me 
 
 "Yet you told Nurse Branscome." 
 
 "Someone some woman had to be told. The 
 child must be met, you see." 
 
 " H'm. . . . Well, I am glad, anyway, that you told 
 me whilst there was yet a chance of my being useful ; 
 being, as you may or may not have observed, in- 
 clined to jealousy in matters of friendship." 
 
 This time Brother Copas kept his face averted, 
 and made a fresh cast across stream with more than 
 ordinary care. The fly dropped close under the far 
 bank, and by a bare six inches clear of a formidable 
 alder. He jerked the rod backward, well pleased 
 with his skill. 
 
 "That was a pretty good one, eh?" 
 
 But clever angling was thrown away upon Brother 
 Bonaday, whom preoccupation with trouble had long 
 31
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 ago made unobservant. Brother Copas reeled in a 
 few yards of his line. 
 
 " You '11 bear in mind that, if the Master should 
 refuse and you 're short of money for a good lodging, 
 I have a pound or two laid by. We must do what 
 we can for the child; coming, as she will, from the 
 other side of the world." 
 
 "That is kind of you, Copas," said Brother Bon- 
 aday slowly, his eyes fixed now on the reel, the 
 whirring click of which drew his attention, so that 
 he seemed to address his speech to it. "It is very 
 kind, and I thank you. But I hope the Master will 
 not refuse: though, to tell you the truth, there is 
 another small difficulty which makes me shy of asking 
 him a favour." 
 
 "Eh? What is it?" 
 
 Brother Bonaday twisted his thin fingers together. 
 
 "I I had promised, before I got this letter, to 
 stand by Warboise. I feel rather strongly on these 
 matters, you know though, of course, not so 
 strongly as he does and I promised to support him. 
 Which makes it very awkward, you see, to go and 
 ask a favour of the Master just when you are (so to 
 say) defying his authority. . . . While if I hide it 
 from him and, he grants the favour, and then next 
 day or the day after I declare for Warboise, it will 
 look like treachery, eh?" 
 
 "Damnl" said Brother Copas, still winding in 
 32
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 his line meditatively. "There is no such casuist 
 as poverty. And only this morning I was promising 
 myself much disinterested sport in the quarrelling of 
 you Christian brethren. . . . But isn't that Warboise 
 coming along the path? . . . Yes, the very man! 
 Well, we must try what 's to be done." 
 
 "But I have given him my word, remember." 
 
 Brother Copas, if he heard, gave no sign of hearing. 
 H*e had turned to hail Brother Warboise, who came 
 along the river path with eyes fastened on the ground, 
 and staff viciously prodding in time with his steps. 
 
 "Hullo, Warboise! Halt, and give the counter- 
 sign!" 
 
 Brother Warboise halted, taken unawares, and eyed 
 the two doubtfully from under his bushy grey eye- 
 brows. They were Beauchamp both, he Blanch- 
 minster. He wore the black cloak of Blanchminster, 
 with the silver cross patte at the breast, and looked 
 so Copas murmured to himself "like Caiaphas in 
 a Miracle Play." His mouth was square and firm, 
 his grey beard straightly cut. He had been a stationer 
 in a small way, and had come to grief by vending 
 only those newspapers of which he could approve 
 the religious tendency. 
 
 "The countersign?" he echoed slowly and doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 He seldom understood Brother Copas, but by habit 
 suspected him of levity. 
 
 33
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "To be sure, among three good Protestants! 
 'Bloody end to the Pope!' is it not?" 
 
 "You are mocking me," snarled Brother War- 
 boise, and with that struck the point of his staff 
 passionately upon the pathway. "You are a Gallic, 
 and always will be: you care nothing for what is 
 heaven and earth to us others. But you have no 
 right to infect Bonaday, here, with your poison. 
 He has promised me. " Brother Warboise faced upon 
 Brother Bonaday sternly, "You promised me, you 
 know you did." 
 
 "To be sure he promised you," put in Brother 
 Copas. "He has just been telling me." 
 
 "And I am going to hold him to it! These are 
 not times for falterers, halters between two opinions. 
 If England is to be saved from coming a second time 
 under the yoke of Papacy, men will have to come 
 out in their true colours. He that is not for us is 
 against us." 
 
 Brother Copas reeled in a fathom of line with a 
 contemplative, judicial air. 
 
 " Upon my word, Warboise, I 'm inclined to agree 
 with you. I don't pretend to share your Protestant 
 fervour: but hang it! I 'm an Englishman with a 
 sense of history, and that is what no single one 
 among your present-day High Anglicans would 
 appear to possess. If a man want to understand 
 England he has to start with one or two simple 
 34
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 propositions, of which the first or about the first 
 is that England once had a Reformation, and is not 
 going to forget it. But that is just what these fellows 
 would make-believe to ignore. A fool like Colt 
 for at bottom, between ourselves, Colt is a fool 
 says, 'Reformation? There was no such thing: 
 we don't acknowledge it.' As the American said of 
 some divine who didn't believe in eternal punish- 
 ment, 'By gosh, he'd better not!'" 
 
 "But England is forgetting it!" insisted Brother 
 Warboise. "Look at the streams of Papist monks 
 she has allowed to pour in ever since France took 
 a strong line with her monastic orders. Look at 
 those fellows College of St. John Lateran, as they 
 call themselves who came across and up from South- 
 ampton last year, and took lodgings only at the far 
 end of this village. In the inside of six months they 
 had made friends with everybody." 
 
 "They employ local tradesmen, and are particular 
 in paying their debts, I 'm told." 
 
 "Oh," said Brother Warboise, "they're cunning!" 
 
 Brother Copas gazed at him admiringly, and shot 
 a glance at Brother Bonaday. But Brother Bona- 
 day's eyes had wandered off again to the skimming 
 swallows. 
 
 "Confessed Romans and their ways," said Brother 
 Warboise, "one is prepared for, but not for these 
 wolves in sheep's clothing. Why, only last Sunday- 
 35
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 week you must have heard Colt openly preaching 
 the confessional!" 
 
 "I slept," said Brother Copas. "But I will take 
 your word for it." 
 
 "He did, I assure you; and what's more you 
 may know it or not Royle and Biscoe confess to 
 him regularly." 
 
 "They probably tell him nothing worse than their 
 suspicions of you and me. Colt is a vain person 
 walking in a vain show." 
 
 "You don't realise the hold they are getting. 
 Look at the money they squeeze out of the public; 
 the churches they restore, and the new ones they 
 build. And among these younger Anglicans, I tell 
 you, Colt is a force." 
 
 "My good Warboise, you have described him 
 exactly. He is a force and nothing else. He will 
 bully and beat you down to get his way, but in the 
 end you can always have the consolation of present- 
 ing him with the shadow, which he will unerringly 
 mistake for the substance. I grant you that to be 
 bullied and beaten down is damnably unpleasant 
 discipline, even when set off against the pleasure of 
 fooling such a fellow as Colt. But when a man has 
 to desist from pursuit of pleasure he develops a fine 
 taste for consolations: and this is going to be mine 
 for turning Protestant and backing you in this busi- 
 ness." 
 
 36
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 "Youf" 
 
 "Your accent is so little flattering, Warboise, that 
 I hardly dare to add the condition. Yet I will. If 
 I stand in with you in resisting Colt, you must 
 release Bonaday here. Henceforth he 's out of the 
 quarrel." 
 
 "But I do not understand." Brother Warboise 
 regarded Brother Copas from under his stiff grey 
 eyebrows. "Why should Bonaday back out?" 
 
 "That is his affair," answered Brother Copas 
 smoothly, almost before Brother Bonaday was aware 
 of being appealed to. 
 
 " But you don't mind my saying it I 've never 
 considered you as a Protestant, quite; not, at least, 
 as an earnest one." 
 
 "That," said Brother Copas, "I may be glad to 
 remember, later on. But come; I offer you a 
 bargain. Strike off Bonaday and enlist me. A 
 volunteer is proverbially worth two pressed men; 
 and as a Protestant I promise you to shine. If 
 you must have my reason, or reasons, say that I am 
 playing for safety." 
 
 Here Brother Copas laid down his rod on the grassy 
 bank and felt for his snuff-box. As he helped him- 
 self to a pinch he slyly regarded the faces of his 
 companions; and his own, contracting its muscles to 
 take the dose, seemed to twist itself in a sardonic 
 smile. 
 
 37
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Unlike Colt," he explained, "I read history some- 
 times, and observe its omens. You say that our 
 clergy are active just now in building and restoring 
 churches. Has it occurred to you that they were 
 never so phenomenally active in building and re- 
 . building as on the very eve of the Reformation 
 crash? Ask and inquire, my friend, what propor- 
 tion of our English churches are Perpendicular; get 
 from any handbook the date of that style of archi- 
 tecture; and apply the omen if you will." 
 
 "That sounds reassuring," said Brother Warboise. 
 " And so you really think we Protestants are going to 
 win?" 
 
 "God forbid! What I say is, that the High An- 
 glicans will probably lose." 
 
 " One never knows when you are joking or when 
 serious." Brother Warboise, leaning on his staff, 
 pondered Brother Copas's face. It was a fine face; 
 it even, resembled the conventional portrait of Dante, 
 but I am asking the reader to tax his imagination 
 with humorous wrinkles set about the eyes, their 
 high austerity clean taken away and replaced by a 
 look of very mundane shrewdness, and lastly a 
 grosser chin and mouth with a touch of the laugh- 
 ing faun in their folds and corners. "You are con- 
 cealing your real reasons," said Brother Warboise. 
 
 "That," answered Brother Copas, "has been de- 
 fined for the true function of speech. . . . But I am 
 38
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 quite serious this time, and I ask you again to let 
 Brother Bonaday off and take me on. You will find 
 it worth while." 
 
 Brother Warboise could not see for the life of him 
 why, at a time when it behooved all defenders of the 
 reformed religion to stand shoulder to shoulder, 
 Brother Bonaday should want to be let off. 
 
 "No?" said Brother Copas, picking up his rod 
 again. "Well, those are my terms . . . and, excuse 
 me, but was not that a fish over yonder? They are 
 beginning to rise. ..." 
 
 Brother Warboise muttered that he would think it 
 over, and resumed his walk. 
 
 " He '11 agree, safe enough. And now, no more 
 talking!" 
 
 But after a cast or two Brother Copas broke his 
 own injunction. 
 
 "A Protestant! . . . I 'm doing a lot for you, 
 friend. But you must go to the Master this very 
 evening. No time to be lost, I tell you! Why, if 
 he consent, there are a score of small things to be 
 bought to make the place fit for a small child. Get 
 out pencil and paper and make a list. . . . W r ell, 
 where do we begin?" 
 
 " I I 'm sure I don't know, " confessed Brother 
 Bonaday helplessly. "I never, so to speak, had a 
 child before, you see." 
 
 39
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " Nor I ... but damn it, man, let 's do our best 
 and take things in order. When she arrives let 
 me see the first thing is, she '11 be hungry. That 
 necessitates a small knife and fork. Knife, fork and 
 spoon; regular godfather's gift. You must let me 
 stand godfather and supply 'em. You don't happen 
 to know if she 's been christened, by the way ? " 
 
 "No o. I suppose they look after these things 
 in America?" 
 
 "Probably after a fashion," said Brother Copas 
 with a fine smile. "Heavens! if as a Protestant I am 
 to fight the first round over Infant Baptism ' 
 
 "There is a font in the chapel." 
 
 "Yes. I have often wondered why." 
 
 Brother Copas appeared to meditate this as he 
 slowly drew back his rod and made a fresh cast. 
 Again the fly dropped short of the alder stump by a 
 few inches, and fell delicately on the dark water below 
 it. There was a splash a soft gurgling sound dear 
 to the angler's heart. Brother Copas's rod bent and 
 relaxed to the brisk whir of its reel as a trout took 
 fly and hook and sucked them under. 
 
 Then followed fifteen minutes of glorious life. 
 Even Brother Bonaday's slow blood caught the pulse 
 of it. He watched, not daring to utter a sound, his 
 limbs twitching nervously. 
 
 But when the fish in weight well over a pound 
 had been landed and lay, twitching too, in the grasses 
 40
 
 BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH 
 
 by the Mere bank, Brother Copas, after eyeing it a 
 moment with legitimate pride, slowly wound up his 
 reel. 
 
 "And I am to be a Protestant! . . . Saint Peter 
 King Fisherman forgive me!" 
 
 41
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 WHEN Nurse Branscome reached the docks and 
 inquired at what hour the Carnatic might be expected, 
 the gatekeeper pointed across a maze of dock-basins, 
 wharves, tramway-lines, to a far quay where the great 
 steamship lay already berthed. 
 
 " She Ve broken her record by five hours and 
 some minutes," he explained. "See that train just 
 pulling out of the station? That carries her mails." 
 
 Nurse Branscome a practical little woman with 
 shrewd grey eyes neither fussed over the news nor 
 showed any sign of that haste which is ill speed. 
 Scanning the distant vessel, she begged to be told 
 the shortest way alongside, and noted the gate- 
 keeper's instructions very deliberately, nodding her 
 head. They were intricate. At the close she 
 thanked him and started, still without appearance of 
 hurry, and reached the Carnatic without a mistake. 
 She arrived, too, a picture of coolness, though the 
 docks lay shadeless to the afternoon sun, and the 
 many tramway-lines radiated a heat almost insuffer- 
 able. 
 
 42
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 The same quiet air of composure carried her 
 unchallenged up a gangway and into the great ship. 
 A gold-braided junior officer, on duty at the gang- 
 way-head, asked politely if he could be of service 
 to her. She answered that she had come to seek 
 a steerage passenger a little girl named Bona- 
 day. 
 
 "Ach!" said a voice close at her elbow, "that 
 will be our liddle Korona!" 
 
 Nurse Branscome turned. The voice belonged to 
 a blond, middle-aged German, whose gaze behind 
 his immense spectacles was of the friendliest. 
 
 "Yes Corona: that is her name." 
 
 "So!" said the middle-aged German. "She is 
 with my wive at this moment. If I may escort you ? 
 . . . We will not then drouble Mister Smid' who is 
 so busy." 
 
 He led the way forward. Once he turned, and in 
 the faint light between-decks his spectacles shone 
 palely, like twin moons. 
 
 " I am habby you are come, " he said. " My wive 
 will be habby. ... I told her a dozzen times it 
 will be ol' right the ship has arrived before she is 
 agspected. . . . But our liddle Korona is so ags- 
 cited, so imbatient for her well-beloved England." 
 
 He pronounced "England" as we write it. 
 
 "So!" he proclaimed, halting before a door and 
 throwing it open. 
 
 43
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Within, on a cheap wooden travelling-trunk, sat 
 a stout woman and a child. The child wore black 
 weeds, and had as Nurse Branscome noted at first 
 glance remarkably beautiful eyes. Her right hand 
 lay imprisoned between the two palms of the stout 
 woman, who, looking up, continued to pat the back 
 of it softly. 
 
 "A friendt for our Mees Korona!" 
 
 "Whad did I not tell you?" said the stout woman 
 to the child, cooing the words exultantly, as she arose 
 to meet the visitor. 
 
 The two women looked in each other's eyes, and 
 each divined that the other was good. 
 
 " Good afternoon," said Nurse Branscome. " I am 
 sorry to be late." 
 
 "But it is we who are early. . . . We tell the 
 liddle one she must have bribed the cabdain, she 
 was so crazed to arr-rive!" 
 
 "Are you related to her?" 
 
 "Ach, no," chimed in husband and wife together 
 as soon as they understood. "But friendts 
 friendts, Korona hein?" 
 
 The husband explained that they had made the 
 child's acquaintance on the first day out from New 
 York, and had taken to her at once, seeing her so 
 forlorn. He was a baker by trade, and by name 
 Miiller; and he and his wife, after doing pretty well 
 in Philadelphia, were returning home to Bremen, 
 44
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 where his brother (also a baker) had opened a pros- 
 perous business and offered him a partnership. 
 
 "Which he can well afford," commented Frau 
 M tiller. "For my husband is beyond combetition 
 as a master-baker; and at the end all will go to his 
 brother's two sons. . . . We have not been gifen 
 children of our own." 
 
 "Yet home is home," added her husband, with an 
 expansive smile, "though it be bot the Vaterland, 
 Mees Korona hein?" He eyed the child quizzically, 
 and turned to Nurse 1 Branscome. "She is badriotic 
 so as you would nevar think 
 
 " ' Brit-ons nevar, nevar, nev-ar will be Slavs ! ' " 
 
 He intoned it ludicrously, casting out both hands 
 and snapping his fingers to the tune. 
 
 The child Corona looked past him with a gaze that 
 put aside these foolish antics, and fastened itself on 
 Nurse Branscome. 
 
 "I think I shall like you," she said composedly 
 and with the clearest English accent. " But I do 
 not quite know who you are. Are you fetching me 
 to daddy?" 
 
 "Yes," said Nurse Branscome, and nodded. 
 
 She seldom or never wasted words, but nods made 
 up a good part of her conversation. 
 
 Corona stood up, by this action conveying to the 
 grown-ups for she, too, economised speech that 
 45
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 she was ready to go and at once. Youth is selfish, 
 even in the sweetest-born of natures. Baker -Miiller 
 and his good wife looked at her wistfully. She had 
 come into their childless life, and had taken uncon- 
 scious hold on it, scarce six days ago the inside of 
 a week. They looked at her wistfully. Her eyes 
 were on Nurse Branscome, who stood for the future. 
 Yet she remembered that they had been kind. 
 Herr Miiller, kind to the last, ran off and routed 
 up a seaman to carry her box to the gangway. 
 There, while bargaining with a porter, Nurse Brans- 
 come had time to observe with what natural good 
 manners the child suffered herself to be folded in 
 Frau Miiller's ample embrace, and how prettily she 
 shook hands with the good baker. She turned 
 about, even once or twice, to wave her farewells. 
 
 "But she is naturally reserved," Nurse Branscome 
 decided. "Well, she '11 be none the worse for that." 
 
 She had hardly formed this judgment when 
 Corona went a straight way to upset it. A tuft of 
 groundsel had rooted itself close beside the traction 
 rails a few paces from the waterside. With a little 
 cry almost a sob the child swooped upon the weed 
 and, plucking it, pressed it to her lips. 
 
 "I promised to kiss the first living thing I met in 
 England," she explained. 
 
 "Then you might have begun with me," said 
 Nurse Branscome, laughing. 
 46
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 "Oh, that's good I like you to laugh! This is 
 real England, merry England, and I used to 'spect 
 it was so good that folks went about laughing all the 
 time, just because they lived in it." 
 
 " Look here, my dear, you mustn't build your ex- 
 pectations too high. If you do, we shall all disap- 
 point you; which means that you will suffer." 
 
 " But that was a long time ago. I 've grown 
 since. . . . And I didn't kiss you at first because 
 it makes me feel uncomfortable kissing folks out loud. 
 But I '11 kiss you in the cars when we get to them." 
 
 But by and by when they found themselves seated 
 alone in a third-class compartment she forgot her 
 promise, being lost in wonder at this funny mode 
 of travelling. She examined the parcels' rack over- 
 head. 
 
 "'For light articles only,'" she read out. "But 
 but how do we manage when it's bedtime?" 
 
 "Bless the child, we don't sleep in the train! 
 Why, in little over an hour we shall be at Merchester, 
 and that 's home. " 
 
 "Home!" Corona caught at the word and re- 
 peated it with a shiver of excitement. "Home in 
 an hour!" 
 
 It was not that she distrusted; it was only that 
 she could not focus her mind down to so small a 
 distance. 
 
 "And now," said Nurse Branscome cheerfully, as 
 47
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 they settled themselves down, "are you going to tell 
 me about your passage, or am I to tell you about 
 your father and the sort of place St. Hospital is? 
 Or would you," added this wise woman, "just like 
 to sit still and look out of window and take it all 
 in for a while?" 
 
 "Thank you," answered Corona, "that's what I 
 want, ezactly." 
 
 She nestled into her corner as the train drew forth 
 beyond the purlieus and dingy suburbs of the great 
 seaport and out into the country our south coun- 
 try, all green and glorious with summer. Can this 
 world show the like of it, for comfort of eye and 
 heart? 
 
 Her eyes drank, devoured it. Cattle knee-deep 
 in green pasture, belly-deep in green water-flags by 
 standing pools; cattle resting their long flanks 
 while they chewed the cud; cattle whisking their 
 tails amid the meadow-sweet, under hedges sprawled 
 over with wild rose and honeysuckle. White flocks 
 in the lengthening shade of elms; wood and copse; 
 silver river and canal glancing between alders, haw- 
 thorns, pollard willows; lichened bridges of flint 
 and brick; ancient cottages, thatched or red-tiled, 
 timber-fronted, bulging out in friendliest fashion on 
 the high road; the high road looping its way from 
 village to village, still between hedges. Corona had 
 never before set eyes on a real hedge in the course of 
 48
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 her young life; but all this country right away to 
 the rounded chalk-hills over which the heat shim- 
 mered was parcelled out by hedges hedges by the 
 hundred and such hedges! 
 
 " It 's it 's like a garden, " she stammered, turning 
 around and meeting a question in Nurse Branscome's 
 eyes. "It's all so lovely and tiny and bandboxy. 
 However do they find the time for it?" 
 
 "Eh, it takes time," said Nurse Branscome, 
 amused. " You '11 find that 's the main secret with 
 us over here. But disappointed, are you?" 
 
 "Oh, no no no!" the child assured her. "It's 
 ten times lovelier than ever I 'spected only," she 
 added, cuddling down for another long gaze, " it 's 
 different different in size." 
 
 "England 's a little place," said Nurse Branscome. 
 "In the colonies I won't say anything about the 
 States, for I 've never seen them; but I 've been to 
 Australia in my time, and I expect with Canada 
 it 's much the same or more so in the colonies 
 everything 's spread out; but home here, I heard 
 Brother Copas say, if you want to feel how great 
 anything is, you have to take it deep-ways, layer 
 below layer." 
 
 Corona knit her small brow. 
 
 "But Windsor Castle is a mighty big place?" she 
 said hopefully. 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 49
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Well, I 'm glad of that anyway." 
 
 "But why, dear?" 
 
 "Because," said Corona, "that is where the King 
 lives. I used to call him my King over on the Other 
 Side, because my name is Corona, and means I was 
 born the year he was crowned. They make out they 
 don't hold much stock in kings, back there; but that 
 sort of talk didn't take me in, because when you 
 have a King of your own you know what it feels like. 
 And, anyway, they had to allow that King Edward 
 is a mighty big one, and that he is always making 
 peace for all the world. ... So now you know why 
 I 'm glad about Windsor Castle. " 
 
 "I 'm afraid it is not quite clear to me yet," said 
 Nurse Branscome, leading her on. 
 
 "I can't 'splain very well." The child could 
 never quite compass the sound "ex" in words 
 where a consonant followed. " I 'm no good at 
 'splaining. But I guess if the job was up to you to 
 make peace for all-over-the-world. you 'd want to 
 sit in a big place, sort of empty an' quiet, an' feel 
 like God." Corona gazed out of window again. 
 "You can tell he 's been at it, too, hereabouts; but 
 somehow I didn't 'spect it to be all lying about in 
 little bits." 
 
 They alighted from the idling train at a small 
 country station embowered in roses, the next on this 
 side of Merchester and but a short three-quarters 
 50
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 of a mile from St. Hospital, towards which they set 
 out on foot by a meadow-path and over sundry 
 stiles, a porter following (or rather making a detour 
 after them along the high road) and wheeling Coro- 
 na's effects on a barrow. From the first stile Nurse 
 Branscome pointed out the grey Norman buildings, 
 the chapel tower, the clustering trees, and sup- 
 ported Corona with a hand under her elbow as, 
 perched on an upper bar with her knees against 
 the top rail, she drank in her first view of home. 
 
 Her first comment it shaped itself into a question, 
 or rather into two questions gave Nurse Branscome 
 a shock: it was so infantile in comparison with her 
 talk in the train. 
 
 " Does daddy live there ? And is he so very old, 
 then?" 
 
 Then Nurse Branscome bethought her that this 
 mite had never yet seen her father, and that he was 
 not only an aged man but a broken-down one, and 
 in appearance (as they say) older than his years. A 
 great pity seized her for Corona, and in the rush of 
 pity all her oddities and grown-up tricks of speech 
 (Americanisms apart) explained themselves. She 
 was an old father's child. Nurse Branscome was 
 midwife enough to know what freakishness and 
 frailty belong to children begotten by old age. Yet 
 Corona, albeit gaunt with growing, was lithe and 
 well-formed, and of a healthy complexion and a 
 clear, though it inclined to pallor. 
 51
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Your father is not a young man," she said gently. 
 "You must be prepared for that, dear. . . . And of 
 course his dress the dress of the Beauchamp Breth- 
 ren makes him look even older than he is." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Corona, turning about as 
 well as she could on the stile and putting the direct 
 question with direct eyes. 
 
 " It 's a long gown, a gown of reddish-purple, with 
 a silver rose at the breast." 
 
 "Save us!" exclaimed this unaccountable child. 
 " 'Seems I 'd better start right in by asking what 
 news of the Crusades." 
 
 In the spare room pertaining to Brother Bonaday 
 he and Brother Copas were (as the latter put it) 
 making very bad weather with their preparations. 
 They supposed themselves, however, to have plenty 
 of time, little guessing that the captain of the Car- 
 natic had been breaking records. In St. Hospital 
 one soon learns to neglect mankind's infatuation for 
 mere speed; and yet, strange to say, Brother Copas 
 was discoursing on this very subject. 
 
 He had produced certain purchases from his 
 wallet, and disposed them on the chest of drawers 
 which was to serve Corona for dressing-table. They 
 included a cheap mirror, and here he felt himself on 
 safe ground; but certain others, such as a gaudily- 
 dressed doll, priced at Is. 3d., a packet of hairpins, 
 a book of coloured photographs, entitled Souvenir 
 52
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 of Royal Merchester he eyed more dubiously. He 
 had found it hard to bear in mind the child's exact 
 age. "But she was born in Coronation Year. I 
 have told you that over and over," Brother Bonaday 
 would protest. "My dear fellow, I know you have; 
 but the devil is, that means something different 
 every time." 
 
 "The purpose of all right motion," Brother Copas 
 was saying, "is to get back to the point from which 
 you started. Take the sun itself, on any created 
 mass; take the smallest molecule in that mass; take 
 the world whichever way you will 
 
 "'Behold the world, how it is wnirled round! 
 And for it so is whirl'd is named so.' 
 
 (There 's pretty etymology for you!) All movement 
 in a straight line is eccentric, lawless, or would be 
 were it possible, which I doubt. Why this haste, 
 then, in passing given points? If man did it in a 
 noble pride, as a tour de force, to prove himself so 
 much the cleverer than the brute creation, I could 
 understand it; but if that 's his game, a speck of 
 radium beats him in a common canter. I read in 
 a scientific paper last week, in a signed article 
 which bore every impress of truth, that there 's a 
 high explosive that will run a spark from here to 
 Paris while you are pronouncing its name. Yet 
 extend that run, and run it far and fast as you will, 
 53
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 it can only come back to your hand. . . . Which," 
 continued Brother Copas, raising his voice, for 
 Brother Bonaday had toddled into the sitting-room 
 to see if the kettle boiled, " reminds me of a story I 
 picked up in the Liberal Club the other day, the truth 
 of it guaranteed. Ten or eleven years ago the Mayor 
 of Merchester died on the very eve of St. Giles's 
 Fair. The Town Council met, and some were for 
 stopping the shows and steam roundabouts as a mark 
 of respect, while others doubted that the masses 
 (among whom the Mayor had not been popular) 
 would resent this curtailing of their fun. In the 
 end a compromise was reached. The proprietor of 
 the roundabouts was sent for, and the show-ground 
 granted to him, on condition that he made his steam- 
 organ play hymn tunes. He accepted, and that week 
 the merry-makers revolved to the strains of 'Nearer, 
 my God, to Thee.' It sounds absurd; but when 
 you come to reflect 
 
 Brother Copas broke off, hearing a slight com- 
 motion in the next room. Brother Bonaday, kneel- 
 ing and puffing at the fire which refused to boil the 
 water, had been startled by voices in the entry. 
 Looking up, flushed of face, he beheld a child on the 
 threshold, with Nurse Branscome standing behind 
 her. 
 
 "Daddy!" 
 
 Brother Copas from one doorway, Nurse Brans- 
 54
 
 CORONA COMES 
 
 come from the other, saw Brother Bonaday's face 
 twitch as with a pang of terror. He arose slowly 
 from his knees, and very slowly as if his will strug- 
 gled against some invisible, detaining force held out 
 both hands. Corona ran to them; but, grasped by 
 them, drew back for a moment, scanning him before 
 she suffered herself to be kissed. 
 
 "My, what a dear old dress! . . . Daddy, you 
 are a dude!" 
 
 55
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BROTHER COPAS ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 "An, good evening, Mr. Simeon!'* 
 
 In the British Isles search them all over you 
 will discover no more agreeable institution of its 
 kind than the Venables Free Library, Merchester; 
 which, by the way, you are on no account to confuse 
 with the Free Public Library attached to the Shire 
 Hall. In the latter you may study the newspapers 
 with all the latest financial, police and betting news, 
 or borrow all the newest novels even this novel 
 which I am writing, should the Library Sub-Com- 
 mittee of the Town Council (an austerely moral 
 body) allow it to pass. In the Venables Library the 
 books are mostly mellowed by age, even when 
 naughtiest (it contains a whole roomful of Resto- 
 ration Plays, an unmatched collection), and no news- 
 papers are admitted, unless you count the monthly 
 and quarterly reviews, of which The Hibbcrt Journal 
 is the newest-f angled. By consequence the Venables 
 Library, though open to all men without payment, 
 has few frequenters; "which," says Brother Copas, 
 "is just as it should be." 
 
 56
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 But not even public neglect will account for the 
 peculiar charm of the Venables Library. That comes 
 of the building it inhabits: anciently a town house 
 of the Marquesses of Merchester, abandoned at the 
 close of the great Civil War, and by them never 
 again inhabited, but maintained with all its old 
 furniture, and from time to time patched up against 
 age and weather happily not restored. When early 
 in the last century the seventh Marquess of Mer- 
 chester very handsomely made it over to a body of 
 trustees, to house a collection of books bequeathed 
 to the public by old Dean Venables, Merchester's 
 most scholarly historian, it was with a stipulation 
 that the amenities of the house should be as little 
 as possible disturbed. The beds, to be sure, were 
 removed from the upper rooms, and the old carpets 
 from the staircase; and the walls, upstairs and down, 
 lined with bookcases. But a great deal of the old 
 furniture remains; and, wandering at will from one 
 room to another, you look forth through latticed 
 panes upon a garth fenced off from the street with 
 railings of twisted iron-work and . overspread by a 
 gigantic mulberry tree, the boughs of which in 
 summer, if you are wise enough to choose a win- 
 dow-seat, will filter the sunlight upon your open 
 book, 
 
 "Annihilating all that 's made 
 To a green thought in a green shade." 
 57
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Lastly, in certain of the rooms smoking is permitted; 
 some bygone trustee may earth lie lightly on him! 
 having discovered and taught that of all things a 
 book is about the most difficult to burn. You may 
 smoke in Paradise, for instance. By this name, for 
 what reason I cannot tell, is known the room con- 
 taining the Greek and Latin classics. 
 
 Brother Copas, entering Paradise with a volume 
 under his arm, found Mr. Simeon seated there alone 
 with a manuscript and a Greek lexicon before him, 
 and gave him good evening. 
 
 "Good evening, Brother Copas! . . . You have 
 been a stranger to us for some weeks, unless I 
 mistake?" 
 
 "You are right. These have been stirring times 
 in politics, and for the last five or six weeks I have 
 been helping to save my country, at the Liberal 
 Club." 
 
 Mr. Simeon a devoted Conservative came as 
 near to frowning as his gentle nature would permit. 
 
 "You disapprove, of course," continued Brother 
 Copas easily. "Well, so in a sense do I. We 
 beat you at the polls; not in Merchester we shall 
 never carry Merchester though even in Merchester 
 we put up fight enough to rattle you into a blue 
 funk. But God help the pair of us, Mr. Simeon, 
 if our principles are to be judged by the uses other 
 men make of 'em! I have had enough of my fellow- 
 68
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 Liberals to last me for some time. . . . Why are 
 you studying Liddell and Scott, by the way?" 
 
 "To tell the truth," Mr. Simeon confessed, "this 
 is my fair copy of the Master's Gaudy Sermon. I am 
 running it through and correcting the Greek accents. 
 I am always shaky at accents." 
 
 "Why not let me help you?" Brother Copas sug- 
 gested. " Upon my word, you may trust me. I am, 
 as nearly as possible, impeccable with Greek accents, 
 and may surely say so without vanity, since the gift 
 is as useless as any other of mine." 
 
 Mr. Simeon, as we know, was well aware of 
 this. 
 
 "I should be most grateful," he confessed, in 
 some compunction. "But I am not sure that the 
 Master if you will excuse me would care to have 
 his sermon overlooked. Strictly speaking, indeed, 
 I ought not to have brought it from home: but 
 with six children in a very small house and on a 
 warm evening like this, you understand 
 
 "I once kept a private school," said Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 "They are high-spirited children, I thank God." 
 Mr. Simeon sighed. " Moreover, as it happened, they 
 wanted my Liddell and Scott to play at forts with." 
 
 "Trust me, my dear sir. I will confine myself 
 to the Master's marginalia without spying upon the 
 text." 
 
 59
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Brother Copas, as Mr. Simeon yielded to his gen- 
 tle insistence, laid his own book on the table, and 
 seated himself before the manuscript, which he ran 
 through at great speed. 
 
 "H'm h'm . . . tyvxn here is oxyton here and 
 always . . . and avorjTos proparoxy ton : you have 
 left it unaccented." 
 
 "I was waiting to look it up, having some idea 
 that it held a contraction." 
 
 Brother Copas dipped pen and inserted the accent 
 without comment. 
 
 "I see nothing else amiss," he said, rising. 
 
 "It is exceedingly kind of you." 
 
 "Well, as a matter of fact, it is; for I came here 
 expressly to cultivate a bad temper, and you have 
 helped to confirm me in a good one. . . . Oh, 
 I know what you would say if your politeness 
 allowed: 'Why, if bad temper's my object, did I 
 leave the Liberal Club and come here?' Because, 
 my dear sir, at the Club though there 's plenty 
 it 's of the wrong sort. I wanted a religiously bad 
 temper, and an intelligent one to boot." 
 
 "I don't see what religion and bad temper have 
 to do with one another," confessed Mr. Simeon. 
 
 "That is because your are a good man, and there- 
 fore your religion doesn't matter to you." 
 
 "But really," Mr. Simeon protested, flushing, 
 "though one doesn't willingly talk of these inmost 
 60
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 things, you must allow me to say that my religion 
 is everything to me.'* 
 
 "You say that, and believe it. Religion, you be- 
 lieve, colours all your life, suffuses it with goodness 
 as with a radiance. But actually, my friend, it is 
 your own good heart that colours and throws its 
 radiance into your religion. 
 
 " ' O lady, we receive but what we give, 
 And in our life alone does Nature live ' 
 
 " or religion either. . . . Pardon me, but a thor- 
 oughly virtuous or a thoroughly amiable man is not 
 worth twopence as a touchstone for a creed; he would 
 convert even Mormonism to a thing of beauty. . . . 
 Whereas the real test of any religion is as I saw 
 it excellently well put the other day ' not what form 
 it takes in a virtuous mind, but what effects it pro- 
 duces on those of another sort.' Well, I have been 
 studying those effects pretty well all my life, and they 
 may be summed up, roughly but with fair accuracy, 
 as Bad Temper." 
 
 "Good men or bad," persisted Mr. Simeon, 
 "what can the Christian religion do but make them 
 both better?" 
 
 "Which Christian religion? Catholic or Protes- 
 tant? Anglican or Nonconformist? ... I won't ask 
 you to give away your own side. So we '11 take 
 the Protestant Nonconformists. There are a good 
 61
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 many down at the Club: you heard some of the 
 things they said and printed during the Election; 
 and while your charity won't deny that they are 
 religious some of 'em passionately religious you 
 will make haste to concede that their religion and 
 their bad temper were pretty well inseparable. They 
 would say pretty much the same of you Anglicans." 
 
 "You will not pretend that we show bad temper 
 in anything like the same degree." 
 
 "Why should you? ... I don't know that, as 
 a fact, there is much to choose between you; but 
 at any rate the worse temper belongs very properly 
 to the under dog. Your Protestant is the under dog 
 in England to-day; socially, if not politically. . . . 
 Yes, and politically, too; for he may send what 
 majority he will to the House of Commons pledged 
 to amend the Education Act of 1902: he does it in 
 vain. The House of Lords which is really not a 
 political but a social body, the citadel of a class 
 will confound his politics, frustrate his knavish 
 tricks. Can you wonder that he loses his temper, 
 sometimes inelegantly? And when the rich Non- 
 conformist tires of striving against all the odds 
 when he sets up his carriage, and his wife and 
 daughters find that it won't carry them where they 
 had hoped when he surrenders to their persuasions 
 and goes over to the enemy why then can you 
 wonder that his betrayed co-religionists roar all like 
 62
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 bears or foam like dogs and run about the city? 
 ... I tell you, my dear Mr. Simeon, this England 
 of ours stands in real peril to-day of merging its 
 class warfare in religious differences." 
 
 "You mean it, of course, the other way about 
 of merging our religion in class warfare." 
 
 " I mean it as I said it. Class warfare is among 
 Englishmen a quite normal, healthy function of the 
 body politic: it keeps the blood circulating. It is 
 when you start infecting it with religion the trouble 
 begins. . . . We are a sane people, however, on 
 the whole; and every sane person is better than 
 his religion." 
 
 "How can you say such a thing?" 
 
 " How can you gainsay it nay, or begin to doubt 
 it if only you will be honest with yourself? Con- 
 sider how many abominable things religion has 
 taught, and man, by the natural goodness of his heart, 
 has outgrown. Do you believe, for example, that 
 an unchristened infant goes wailing forth from the 
 threshold of life into an eternity of punishment? 
 Look me in the face, you father of six! No, of 
 course you don't believe it. Nobody does. And 
 the difference is not that religion has ceased to teach 
 it for it hasn't but that men have grown decent 
 and put it, with like doctrines, silently aside in 
 disgust. So it has happened to Satan and his fork: 
 they have become 'old hat.' So it will happen to 
 63
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 all the old machinery of hell: the operating decency 
 of human nature will grow ashamed of it that 
 is all. . . . Why, if you look into men's ordinary 
 daily conduct which is the only true test they 
 never believed in such things. Do you suppose that 
 the most frantic Scotch Calvinist, when he was his 
 douce daily self and not temporarily intoxicated by 
 his creed, ever treated his neighbours in practice 
 as men predestined to damnation? Of course he 
 didn't!" 
 
 "But religion," objected Mr. Simeon, "lifts a man 
 out of himself his daily self, as you call it." 
 
 "It does that, by Jove!" Brother Copas felt for 
 his snuff-box. "Why, what else was I arguing?" 
 
 "And," pursued Mr. Simeon, his voice gaining 
 assurance as it happened on a form of words he had 
 learnt from somebody else, "the efficacy of religion 
 is surely just here, that it lifts the individual man 
 out of his personality and wings him towards Abba, 
 the all-fatherly as I heard it said the other day," 
 he added lamely. 
 
 "Good Lord!" Brother Copas eyed him over a 
 pinch. "You must have been keeping pretty bad 
 company lately. Who is it ? . . . That sounds a trifle 
 too florid even for Colt the sort of thing Colt would 
 achieve if he could. . . . Upon my word, I believe 
 you must have been sitting under Tarbolt!" 
 
 Mr. Simeon blushed guiltily to the eyes. But it 
 64
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 was ever the mischief with Brother Copas's worldly 
 scent that he overran it on the stronger scent of an 
 argument. 
 
 " But it 's precisely a working daily religion, a 
 religion that belongs to a man when he is himself, 
 that I 'm after," he ran on. "You fellows hold that 
 a sound religious life will ensure you an eternity 
 of bliss at the end. Very well. You fellows know 
 that the years of a man's life are, roughly, three- 
 score and ten. (Actually it works out far below that 
 figure, but I make you a present of the difference.) 
 Very well again. I take any average Christian aged 
 forty-five, and what sort of premium do I observe 
 him paying I won't say on a policy of Eternal Bliss 
 but on any policy a business-like Insurance Com- 
 pany would grant for three hundred pounds ? There 
 is the difference too," added Brother Copas, "that 
 he gets the eternal bliss, while the three hundred 
 pounds goes to his widow." 
 
 Brother Copas took a second pinch, his eyes on 
 Mr. Simeon's face. He could not guess the secret of 
 the pang that passed over it that in naming three 
 hundred pounds he had happened on the precise 
 sum in which Mr. Simeon was insured, and that 
 trouble enough the poor man had to find the yearly 
 premium, due now in a fortnight's time. But he saw 
 that somehow he had given pain, and dexterously slid 
 off the subject, yet without appearing to change it. 
 65
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "For my part," he went on, "I know a method 
 by which, if made Archbishop of Canterbury and 
 allowed a strong hand, I would undertake to bring, 
 within ten years, every Dissenter in England within 
 the Church's fold." 
 
 "What would you do?" 
 
 " I would lay, in one pastoral of a dozen sentences, 
 the strictest orders on my clergy to desist from all 
 politics, all fighting; to disdain any cry, any strug- 
 gle; to accept from Dissent any rebuff, persecution, 
 spoliation while steadily ignoring it. In every par- 
 ish my Church's attitude should be this: 'You may 
 deny me, hate me, persecute me, strip me: but you 
 are a Christian of this parish and therefore my 
 parishioner; and therefore I absolutely defy you to 
 escape my forgiveness or my love. Though you 
 flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, you shall 
 not escape these: by these, as surely as I am the 
 Church, you shall be mine in the end/ . . . And 
 do you think, Mr. Simeon, any man in England 
 could for ever resist that appeal? A few of us ag- 
 nostics, perhaps. But we are human souls, after 
 all: and no one is an agnostic for the fun of it. We 
 should be tempted sorely tempted I don't say 
 rightly." 
 
 Mr. Simeon's eyes shone. The picture touched him. 
 
 " But it would mean that the Church must com- 
 promise," he murmured.
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 "That is precisely what it would not mean. It 
 would mean that all her adversaries must com- 
 promise; and with love there is only one compromise, 
 which is surrender. . . . But/' continued Brother 
 Copas, resuming his lighter tone, "this presupposes 
 not only a sensible Archbishop but a Church not 
 given up to anarchy as the Church of England is. 
 Let us therefore leave speculating and follow our 
 noses; which with me, Mr. Simeon and confound 
 you for a pleasant companion! means an instant 
 necessity to cultivate bad temper." 
 
 He picked up his volume from the table and walked 
 off with it to the window-seat. 
 
 "You are learning bad temper from a book?" 
 asked Mr. Simeon, taking off his spectacles and 
 following Brother Copas with mild eyes of wonder. 
 
 "Certainly. ... If ever fortune, my good sir, 
 should bring you (which God forbid!) to end your 
 days in our College of Noble Poverty, you will under- 
 stand the counsel given by the pilot to Pantagruel 
 and his fellow-voyagers that considering the gentle- 
 ness of the breeze and the calm of the current, as 
 also that they stood neither in hope of much good 
 nor in fear of much harm, he advised them to let the 
 ship drive, nor busy themselves with anything but 
 making good cheer. I have done with all worldly 
 fear and ambition; and therefore in working up a 
 hearty Protestant rage (to which a hasty promise 
 67
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 commits me), I can only tackle my passion on the 
 intellectual side. Those fellows down at the Club 
 are no help to me at all. . . . My book? It is the 
 last volume of Mr. Froude's famous History of 
 England. Here 's a passage now 
 
 " ' The method of Episcopal appointments, insti- 
 tuted by Henry VIII as a temporary expedient and 
 abolished under Edward as an unreality, was re- 
 established by Elizabeth, not certainly because she 
 believed that the invocation of the Holy Ghost was 
 required for the completeness of an election which her 
 own choice had already determined, not because the 
 bishops obtained any gifts or graces in their consecra- 
 tion which she herself respected, but because the 
 shadowy form of an election, with a religious ceremony 
 following it, gave them the semblance of spiritual 
 independence, the semblance without the substance, 
 which qualified them to be the instruments of the sys- 
 tem which she desired to enforce. They were tempted 
 to presume on their phantom dignity, till a sword of 
 a second Cromwell taught them the true value of their 
 Apostolic descent. . . .' 
 
 " That 's pretty well calculated to annoy, eh ? 
 Also, by the way, in its careless rapture it twice 
 misrelates the relative pronoun; and Froude was a 
 master of style. Or what do you say to this? 
 
 "'But neither Elizabeth nor later politicians of 
 Elizabeth's temperament desired the Church of England
 
 ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE 
 
 to become too genuine. It has been more convenient 
 to leave an element of unsoundness at the heart of an 
 institution which, if sincere, might be dangerously 
 powerful. The wisest and best of its bishops have 
 found their influence impaired, their position made 
 equivocal, by the element of unreality which adheres 
 to them. A feeling approaching to contempt has 
 blended with the reverence attaching to their position, 
 and has prevented them from carrying the weight in 
 the councils of the nation which has been commanded 
 by men of no greater intrinsic eminence in other pro- 
 fessions.' 
 
 "Yet another faulty relative! 
 
 "'Pretensions which many of them would have 
 gladly abandoned have connected their office with a 
 smile. The nature of it has for the most part filled 
 the Sees with men of second-rate abilities. The latest 
 and most singular theory about them is that of the 
 modern English Neo-Catholic, who disregards his 
 bishop's advice, and despises his censures; but looks 
 on him nevertheless as some high-bred, worn-out ani- 
 mal, useless in himself, but infinitely valuable for some 
 mysterious purpose of spiritual propagation.'" 
 
 Brother Copas laid the volume face-downward on 
 his knee a trivial action in itself; but he had a 
 conscience about books, and would never have done 
 this to a book he entirely respected. 
 
 "Has it struck you, Mr. Simeon," he asked, "that
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Froude is so diabolically effective just because in 
 every fibre of him he is at one with the thing he 
 attacks?" 
 
 "He had been a convert of the Tractarians in his 
 young days, I have heard," said Mr. Simeon. 
 
 "Yes, it accounts for much in him. Yet I was 
 not thinking of that which was an experience only, 
 though significant. The man's whole cast of mind 
 is priestly despite himself. He has all the priest- 
 hood's alleged tricks: you can never be sure that 
 he is not faking evidence or garbling a quotation. 
 . . . My dear Mr. Simeon, truly it behoves us to 
 love our enemies, since in this world they are often 
 the nearest we have to us." 
 
 70
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 IN the sunshine, on a lower step of the stone stair- 
 way that leads up and through the shadow of vaulted 
 porch to the Hundred Men's Hall, or refectory, 
 Brother Biscoe stood with a hand-bell and rang to 
 dinner. Brother Biscoe was a charming old man to 
 look upon; very frail and venerable, with a somewhat 
 weak face; and as senior pensioner of the Hospital 
 he enjoyed the privilege of ringing to dinner on 
 Gaudy Days twenty-seven strokes, distinct and sep- 
 arately counted one for each brother on the two 
 foundations. 
 
 The Brethren, however, loitered in groups before 
 their doorways, along the west side of the quadrangle, 
 awaiting a signal from the porter's lodge. Brother 
 Manby, there, had promised to warn them as soon 
 as the Master emerged from his lodging with the 
 other Trustees and a few distinguished guests in- 
 cluding the Bishop of Merchester, Visitor of St. Hos- 
 pital on their way to dine. The procession would 
 take at least three minutes coming through the outer 
 court ample time for the Brethren to scramble up 
 71
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 the stairway, take their places, and assume the right 
 air of reverent expectancy. 
 
 As a rule Brother Copas, standing on the gravel 
 below Brother Biscoe and counting the strokes for 
 him, begged him to note it they were none so 
 dilatory. But gossip held them. His shrewd glance 
 travelled from group to group, and between the 
 strokes of the bell he counted the women-folk. 
 
 "They are all at their doors," he murmured. 
 "For a look at the dear Bishop, think you?" 
 
 "They are watching to see what Warboise will 
 do," quavered Brother Biscoe. "Oh, I know!" 
 
 "The women don't seem to be taking much truck 
 with Warboise or his Petition. See him over there, 
 with Plant and Ibbetson only. . . . And Ibbetson 's 
 only there because his wife has more appetising fish 
 to fry. But she 's keeping an eye on him watch 
 her I Poor woman, for once she 's discovering Ru- 
 mour to be almost too full of tongues." 
 
 " I wonder you 're not over there too, lending War- 
 boise support," suggested Brother Biscoe. " Royle told 
 me last night that you had joined the Protestant swim. " 
 
 "But I am here, you see," Brother Copas answered 
 sweetly; "and just for the pleasure of doing you a 
 small service." 
 
 Even this did not disarm the old man, whose tem- 
 per was malignant. 
 
 "Well, I wish you joy of your crew. A secret 
 72
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 drinker like Plant, for instance! And your friend 
 Bonaday, in his second childhood 
 
 "Bonaday will have nothing to do with us." 
 
 "Ah?" Brother Biscoe shot him a sidelong glance. 
 " He 's more pleasantly occupied, perhaps ? if it 's 
 true what they tell me." 
 
 "It never is," said Brother Copas imperturbably; 
 "though I haven't a notion to what you refer." 
 
 "But surely you 've heard?" 
 
 "Nothing: and if it concerns Bonaday, you 'd best 
 hold your tongue just now; for here he is." 
 
 Brother Bonaday in fact, with Nurse Branscome 
 and Corona, at that moment emerged from the door- 
 way of his lodgings, not ten paces distant from the 
 steps of the Hundred Men's Hall. The three paused, 
 just outside the Nurse and Corona to await the pro- 
 cession of Visitors, due now at any moment. Brother 
 Bonaday stood and blinked in the strong sunlight: 
 but the child, catching sight of Brother Copas as he 
 left Brother Biscoe and hurried towards her, ran to 
 meet him with a friendly nod. 
 
 "I 've come out to watch the procession," she an- 
 nounced. "That 's all we women are allowed; while 
 you Branny says there 's to be ducks and green peas! 
 Did you know that?" 
 
 "Surely you must have observed my elation?" 
 
 Brother Copas stood and smiled at her, leaning on 
 his staff. 
 
 73
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "The Bishop wears gaiters they tell me; and the 
 Master too. I saw them coming out of Chapel in 
 their surplices, and the Chaplain with the Bishop's 
 staff: but Branny wouldn't let me go to the service. 
 She said I must be tired after my journey. So I 
 went to the lodge instead and made friends with 
 Brother Manby. I didn't," said Corona candidly, 
 "make very good weather with Brother Manby, 
 just at first. He began by asking 'Well, and oo's 
 child might you be?' and when I told him, he said, 
 'Ow 's anyone to know that?' That amused me, of 
 course." 
 
 "Did it?" asked Brother Copas in slight aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Because," the child explained, "I 'd been told 
 that English people dropped their h's; but Brother 
 Manby was the first I 'd heard doing it, and it seemed 
 too good to be true. You don't drop your h's; and 
 nor does Daddy, nor Branny." 
 
 Brother Copas chuckled. 
 
 "Don't reproach us," he pleaded. "You see, 
 you 've taken us at unawares more or less. But 
 if it really please you 
 
 "You are very kind," Corona put in; "but I 
 guess that sort of thing must come naturally, to be 
 any good. You can't think how naturally Brother 
 Manby went on dropping them; till by and by he 
 told me what a mort of Americans came here to have 
 74
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 a look around. Then, of course, I saw how he must 
 strike them as the real thing." 
 
 Brother Copas under lowered eyebrows regarded 
 the young face. It was innocent and entirely 
 serious. 
 
 "So I said," she went on, "that I 'came from 
 America too, and it was a long way, and please would 
 he hurry up with the bread and beer? After that 
 we made friends, and I had a good time." 
 
 "Are you telling me that you spent the forenoon 
 drinking beer in the porter's lodge?" 
 
 Corona's laugh was like the bubbling of water in a 
 hidden well. 
 
 "It wasn't what you might call a cocktail," she 
 confided. "The tiredest traveller wouldn't ask for 
 crushed ice to it, not with a solid William-the- 
 Conqueror wall to lean against." 
 
 Brother Copas admitted that the tenuity of the 
 Wayfarer's Ale had not always escaped the Way- 
 farer's criticism. He was about to explain that, in a 
 country of vested interests, publicans and teetotallers 
 agreed to require that beer supplied gratis in the name 
 of charity must be innocuous and unenticing. But 
 at this moment Brother Manby signalled from his 
 lodge that the procession was approaching across the 
 outer court, and he hurried away to join the crowd of 
 Brethren in their scramble upstairs to the Hundred 
 Men's Hall. 
 
 75
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 The procession hove in sight; in number about a 
 dozen, walking two-and-two, headed by Master 
 Blanchminster and the Bishop. Nurse Branscome 
 stepped across to the child and stood by her, whisper- 
 ing the names of the dignitaries as they drew near. 
 The dear little gaitered white-headed clergyman 
 the one in the college cap was the Master; the tall 
 one, likewise in gaiters, the Bishop. 
 
 " and the gentleman behind him is Mr. Yeo, the 
 Mayor of Merchester. In Chapel this morning he 
 wore his chain." 
 
 "Why, is he dangerous?" asked Corona. 
 
 " His chain of office, dear. It 's the rule in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 "You don't say! . . . Over in America we 've never 
 thought of that: we let our grafters run loose. But 
 who 's the tall one next to him? My! but can't you 
 see him, Branny, with his long legs crossed ? " 
 
 Branny was puzzled. 
 
 " on a tomb, in chain armour, with his hands 
 so." Corona put her two palms together, as in the 
 act of prayer. 
 
 "Oh, I see! Well, as it happens, his house has a 
 private chapel with five or six of just those tombs 
 all of his ancestors. He 's Sir John Shaftesbury, and 
 he 's pricked for High Sheriff next year. One of the 
 oldest families in the county; in all England, indeed. 
 Everyone loves and respects Sir John." 
 76
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 "Didn't I say so!" The small palms were pressed 
 together ecstatically. "And does he keep a dwarf, 
 same as they used to?" 
 
 " Eh ? . . . If you mean the little man beside him, 
 with the straw-coloured gloves, that 's Mr. Bam- 
 berger; Mr. Julius Bamberger, our Member of Par- 
 liament." 
 
 "Say that again, please." 
 
 The child looked up, wide-eyed. 
 
 " He 's our Member of Parliament for Merchester; 
 immensely rich, they say." 
 
 " Well, " decided Corona after a moment's thought, 
 " I 'm going to pretend he isn't, anyway. I 'm going 
 to pretend Sir John found him and brought him 
 home from Palestine." 
 
 Branny named, one by one, the rest of the Trustees, 
 all persons of importance. 
 
 Mr. Colt and the Bishop's chaplain brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 The procession came to a halt. Old Warboise had 
 not followed in the wake of the Brethren, but stood 
 at the foot of the stairway, and leaned there on his 
 staff. His face was pale, his jaw set square to per- 
 form his duty. His hand trembled, though, as he 
 held out a paper, accosting the Bishop. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " some of the Brethren desire 
 you as Visitor to read this Petition." 
 
 "Hey?" interrupted the Master, taken by sur- 
 77
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 prise. "Tut tut my good Warboise, what 's the 
 meaning of this?" 
 
 "Very sorry, Master," Brother Warboise mum- 
 bled: "and meaning no disrespect to you, that have 
 always ruled St. Hospital like a gentleman. But a 
 party must reckon with his conscience." 
 
 The Bishop eyed the document dubiously, holding 
 it between finger and thumb. 
 
 "Some affair of discipline?" he asked, turning to 
 the Master. 
 
 " Romanisers, my lord Romanisers : that 's what 's 
 the matter!" answered Brother Warboise, lifting his 
 voice and rapping the point of his staff on the gravel. 
 
 Good Master Blanchminster, shocked by this ad- 
 dress, lifted his eyes beyond Warboise and perceived 
 the womenkind gathered around their doorways, 
 listening. Nothing of the sort had happened in all 
 his long and beneficent rule. He was scandalised. 
 He lost his temper. 
 
 "Brother Warboise," he said severely, "whatever 
 your grievance and I will inquire into it later you 
 have chosen a highly indecorous and, er, offensive 
 way of obtruding it. At this moment, sir, we are go- 
 ing together to dine and to thank God for many mer- 
 cies vouchsafed to us. If you have any sense of these 
 you will stand aside now and follow us when we have 
 passed. His lordship will read your petition at a 
 more convenient opportunity." 
 78
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 " Quite so, my good man." The Bishop took his 
 cue and pocketed the paper, nodding shortly. The 
 procession moved forward and mounted the stair- 
 case, Brother Warboise stumping after it at a little 
 distance, scowling as he climbed, scowling after the 
 long back and wide shoulders of Mr. Colt as they 
 climbed directly ahead of him. 
 
 Around their tables in the Hundred Men's Hall the 
 Brethren were gathered expectant. 
 
 "Buzz for the Bishop here he comes I" quoted 
 Brother Copas, and stood forth ready to deliver the 
 Latin grace as the visitors found their places at the 
 high table. 
 
 St. Hospital used a long Latin grace on holydays; 
 " and/' Brother Copas had once observed, " the mar- 
 ket-price of Latinity in England will ensure that we al- 
 ways have at least one Brother capable of repeating it." 
 
 "... Gratias agimus pro Alberico de Albo Mon- 
 asterio, in fide defuncto " 
 
 Here Brother Copas paused, and the Brethren 
 responded "Amen!" 
 
 "Ac pro Henrico de Bello Campo, Cardinali." 
 
 As the grace proceeded Brother Copas dwelt on 
 the broad vowels with gusto. 
 
 "... Itaque precamur; Miserere nostri, te quce- 
 sumus Domine, tuisque donis, quae de tud benignitate 
 percepturi sumus, benedicto. Per Jesum Christum, 
 Dominum nostrum. Amen." 
 79
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 His eye wandered down to the carving-table, where 
 Brother Biscoe stood ready, as his turn was, to direct 
 and apportion the helpings. He bowed to the digni- 
 taries on the dais, and walked to his place at the 
 board next to Brother Warboise. 
 
 " Old Biscoe 's carving," he announced as he took 
 his seat. "You and I will have to take a slice of 
 odium theologicum together, for auld lang syne." 
 
 Sure enough, when his helping of duck came to 
 him, it was the back. Brother Warboise received 
 another back for his portion. 
 
 "Courage, -Brother Ridley!" murmured Copas, 
 "you and I this day have raised a couple of backs 
 that will not readily be put down." 
 
 Nurse Branscome had been surprised when Brother 
 Warboise accosted the Bishop. She could not hear 
 what he said, but guessed that something unusual 
 was happening. A glance at the two or three groups 
 of women confirmed this, and when the procession 
 moved on, she walked across to the nearest, taking 
 Corona by the hand. 
 
 The first she addressed happened to be Mrs. Royle. 
 
 "Whatever was Brother Warboise doing just 
 now?" she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Royle hunched her shoulders, and turned to 
 Mrs. Ibbetson. 
 
 "There 's worse scandals in St. Hospital," said she 
 80
 
 GAUDY DAY 
 
 with a sniff, "than ever old Warboise has nosed. 
 Eh, ma'am?" 
 
 "One can well believe that, Mrs. Royle," agreed 
 Mrs. Ibbetson, fixing an eye of disapproval on the 
 child. 
 
 "And I am quite sure of it," agreed Nurse Brans- 
 come candidly; "though what you mean is a mystery 
 to me." 
 
 81
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 "THIS," said Brother Copas sweetly, turning over 
 his portion of roast duck and searching for some flesh 
 on it, "is not a duck at all, but a pelican, bird of 
 wrath. See, it has devoured its own breast." 
 
 Beside the dais, at the eastern end of the Hundred 
 Men's Hall, an ancient staircase leads to an upper 
 chamber of which we shall presently speak; and on 
 the newel-post of this staircase stands one of the 
 curiosities of St. Hospital a pelican carved in oak, 
 vulning its breast to feed its young. Brother Copas, 
 lifting a pensive eye from his plate, rested it on 
 this bird, as though comparing notes. 
 
 "The plague take your double meanings!" an- 
 swered Brother Warboise gruffly. "Not that I 
 understand 'em, or want to. 'Tis enough, I suppose, 
 that the Master preached about it this morning, and 
 called it the bird of love, to set you miscalling it." 
 
 "Not a bit," Brother Copas replied. "As for the 
 parable of the Pelican, the Master has used it in 
 half a dozen sermons; and you had it by heart at 
 82
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 least as long ago as the day before yesterday, when I 
 happened to overhear you pitching it to a convoy of 
 visitors as you showed them the staircase. I hope 
 they rewarded you for the sentiment of it." 
 
 "Look here," fired up Brother Warboise, turning 
 over his portion of duck, "if it 's poor I am, it don't 
 become you to mock me. And if I haven't your 
 damned book-learning, nor half your damned clever- 
 ness, maybe you 've not turned either to such account 
 in life as to make a boast of it. And if you left me 
 just now to stand up alone to the Master, it don't 
 follow I take pleasure in your sneering at him." 
 
 "You are right, my dear fellow," said Brother 
 Copas; "and also you are proving in two or three 
 different ways that I was right just now. Bird of 
 love bird of wrath they are both the same thing. 
 But, with all submission, neither you nor the Mas- 
 ter have the true parable, which I found by chance 
 the other day in an old book called the Ancren 
 Riwle. Ancren, brother, means ' anchoresses/ recluses, 
 women separated, and living apart from the world 
 pretty much as by rights we men should be living 
 in St. Hospital; and riwle is 'rule/ or an instruction 
 of daily conduct. It is a sound old book, written 
 in the thirteenth century by a certain good Bishop 
 Poore (excellent name!) for a household of such good 
 women at Tarrent, on the River Stour; and it con- 
 tains a peck of counsel which might be preached not 
 83
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 only upon the scandal-mongering women who are the 
 curse of this place yes, and applied; for it recom- 
 mends here and there, a whipping as salutary but 
 even, mutatis mutandis, upon us Brethren 
 
 "We've had one sermon, to-day," growled Brother 
 Warboise. 
 
 " I am correcting it. This book tells of the Pelican 
 that she is a peevish bird and so hasty of temper that, 
 when her young ones molest her, she kills them with 
 her beak; and soon after, being sorry, she moans, 
 smites her own breast with the same murderous beak, 
 and so draws blood, with which (says the Bishop) 
 'she then quickeneth her slain birds.' But I, being 
 no believer in miracles, think he is right as to the 
 repentance but errs about the bringing back to life. 
 In this world, Brother, that doesn't happen; and we 
 poor angry devils are left wishing that it could." 
 
 Brother Warboise, playing with knife and fork, 
 looked up sharply from under fierce eyebrows. 
 
 "The moral?" pursued Brother Copas. "There 
 are two at least: the first, that here we are, two 
 jolly Protestants, who might be as comfortable as 
 rats in a cheese you conscious of a duty performed, 
 and I filled with admiration of your pluck and lo! 
 when old Biscoe annoys us by an act of petty spite, 
 we turn, not on him, but on one another. You, 
 already more angry with yourself than with Biscoe, 
 suddenly take offence with me because I didn't join 
 84
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 you in standing between a good man and his dinner; 
 while I, with a spoilt meal of my own for a grievance, 
 choose to feel an irrational concern for the Master's, 
 turn round on my comrade who has spoilt that, and 
 ask, What the devil is wrong within Protestantism, 
 that it has never an ounce of tact? Or why, if it 
 aims to be unworldly, must it always overshoot its 
 mark and be merely inhuman?" 
 
 Brother Warboise put nine-tenths of this discourse 
 aside. 
 
 "You think it has spoilt the Master's dinner?" 
 he asked anxiously, with a glance towards the high 
 table. 
 
 "Not a doubt of it," Brother Copas assured him. 
 " Look at the old boy, how nervously he 's playing 
 with his bread." 
 
 " I never meant, you know " 
 
 "No, of course you didn't; and there 's my second 
 moral of the Pelican. She digs a bill into her dearest, 
 and then she 's sorry. At the best of her argument 
 she 's always owing her opponent an apology for some 
 offence against manners. She has no savoir-faire." 
 Here Brother Copas, relapsing, let the cloud of specu- 
 lation drift between him and Brother Warboise's 
 remorse. "Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab 
 omnibus I reverence the pluck of a man who can 
 cut himself loose from all that; for the worst loss he 
 has to face (if he only knew it) is the inevitable loss 
 85
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 of breeding. For the ordinary gentleman in this 
 world there *s either Catholicism or sound Paganism; 
 no third choice." 
 
 In truth Master Blanchminster's dinner was spoilt 
 for him. He sat distraught, fingering his bread be- 
 tween the courses which he scarcely tasted, and giv- 
 ing answers at random, after pauses, to the Bishop's 
 small-talk. He was wounded. He had lived for 
 years a life as happy as any that can fall to the 
 lot of an indolent, unambitious man, who loves his 
 fellows and takes a delight in their gratitude. St. 
 Hospital exactly suited him. He knew its history. 
 His affection, like an ivy, clung about its old walls 
 and incorporated itself in the very mortar that bound 
 them. He loved to spy one of its Brethren approach- 
 ing in the street; to anticipate and acknowledge the 
 deferential salute; to see himself as father of a happy 
 family, easily controlling it by goodwill, in the right 
 of good birth. 
 
 He had been a reformer too. The staircase beside 
 the dais led to an upper chamber whence, through a 
 small window pierced in the wall, former Masters had 
 conceived it their duty to observe the behaviour of 
 the Brethren at meals. In his sixth year of office 
 Master Blanchminster had sent for masons to block 
 this window up. The act of espial had always been 
 hateful to him: he preferred to trust his Brethren,
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 and it cost far less trouble. For close upon thirty 
 years he had avoided their dinner-hour on all but 
 Gaudy-days. 
 
 He had been warming a serpent, and it had bitten 
 him. The wound stung, too. Angry he was at 
 Warboise's disloyalty; angrier at the manner of it. 
 If these old men had a grievance, or believed they 
 had, at least they might have trusted him first with 
 it. Had he ever been tyrannical, harsh, unsym- 
 pathetic even, that instead of coming to him as to 
 their father and Master they should have put this 
 public affront on him and appealed straight-a-way to 
 the Bishop? To be sure the Statutes provided that 
 the Bishop of Merchester, as Visitor, had power to 
 inquire into the administration of St. Hospital and 
 to remedy abuses. But everyone knew that within 
 living memory, and for a hundred years before, this 
 power had never been invoked. Doubtless these 
 malcontents, whoever they might be and it dis- 
 quieted Master Blanchminster yet further that he 
 could not guess as yet who they were or how many 
 had kept to the letter of their rights. But good 
 Heaven! had he in all these years interpreted his 
 rule by the letter, and not rather and constantly by 
 the spirit? 
 
 Brother Copas was right. Warboise's action had 
 been inopportune, offensive, needlessly hurting a 
 kindly heart. But the Master, while indignant with 
 87
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Warboise, could not help feeling just a reflex touch of 
 vexation with Mr. Colt. The Chaplain no doubt was 
 a stalwart soldier, fighting the Church's battle; but 
 her battle was not to be won, her rolling tide of con- 
 quest not to be set going, in such a backwater as St. 
 Hospital. Confound the fellow! Why could not these 
 young men leave old men alone? 
 
 Thus it happened that the Master, immersed in 
 painful thoughts, missed the launching of the Great 
 Idea, which was to trouble him and indeed all Mer- 
 chester until Merchester had done with it. 
 
 The idea was Mr. Bamberger's. 
 
 ("Why, of course it was," said Brother Copas 
 later; "ideas, good and bad, are the mission of his 
 race among the Gentiles.") 
 
 Mr. Bamberger, having taken his seat, tucked a 
 corner of his dinner-napkin between his collar and the 
 front of his hairy throat. Adaptable in most things, 
 in feeding and in the conduct of a napkin he could 
 never subdue old habit to our English custom, and 
 to-day, moreover, he wore a large white waistcoat, 
 which needed protection. This seen to, he gazed 
 around expansively. 
 
 "A picture, by George!" Mr. Bamberger ever 
 swore by our English patron saint. "Slap out of the 
 Middle Ages, and priceless." 
 
 (He actually said "thlap" and "pritheless," but
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 I resign at the outset any attempt to spell as Mr. 
 Bamberger pronounced.) 
 
 " Authentic, too! To think of this sort of thing 
 taking place to-day in Merchester, England's ancient 
 capital. Eh, Master? Eh, Mr. Mayor?" 
 
 Master Blanchminster awoke so far out of his 
 thoughts as to correct the idiom. 
 
 "Undoubtedly Merchester was the capital of Eng- 
 land before London could claim that honour. " 
 
 "Aye," agreed his Worship, "there 's no end of 
 antikities in Merchester, for them as takes an interest 
 in such. Dead-and-alive you may call us; but, as 
 I' ve told the Council more than once, they 're links 
 with the past in a manner of speaking." 
 
 " But these antiquities attract visitors, or ought to. " 
 
 "They do: a goodish number, as I've told the 
 Council more than once." 
 
 "Why shouldn't they attract more?" 
 
 "I suppose they would, if we had more of 'em," 
 answered his Worship thoughtfully. "When I said 
 just now that we had no end of antikities, it was in 
 a manner of speaking. There 's the Cathedral, of 
 course, and the old Palace or what 's left of it, and 
 St. Hospital here. But there 's a deal been swept 
 away within my recollection. We must move with 
 the times." 
 
 At this point the inspiration came upon Mr. 
 Bamberger. He laid down the spoon in his soup 
 89
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 and hurriedly caught at the rim of his plate as a 
 vigilant waiter swept a hand to remove it. 
 
 "Hold hard, young man!" said Mr. Bamberger, 
 snatching at his spoon and again fixing his eye on 
 the Mayor. " You ought to have a Pageant, Sir." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A Pageant; that 's what we want for Merchester 
 something to advertise the dear old place and bring 
 grist to our mills. I 've often wondered if we could 
 not run something of the sort." 
 
 This was not a conscious falsehood, but just a word 
 or two of political patter, dropped automatically, 
 absently. In truth, Mr. Bamberger, possessed by his 
 inspiration, was wondering why the deuce it had 
 never occurred to him until this moment. Still more 
 curious, too, that it had never occurred to his brother 
 Isidore! This Isidore, after starting as a croupier 
 at Ostend and pushing on to the post of Dircctcur 
 des Fetes Periodiqucs to the municipality of that 
 watering-place, had made a sudden name for himself 
 by stage-managing a Hall of Odalisques at the last 
 Paris Exposition, and crossing to London, had 
 accumulated laurels by directing popular entertain- 
 ments at Olympia (Kensington) and Shepherd's 
 Bush. One great daily newspaper, under Hebrew 
 control, habitually alluded to him as the Prince of 
 Pageantists. Isidore saw things on a grand scale, 
 and was, moreover, an excellent brother. Isidore 
 90
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 (said Mr. Julius Bamberger to himself) would find all 
 the History of England in Merchester and rattle it 
 up to the tune of music. 
 
 Aloud he said 
 
 "This very scene we 're looking on, f'r instance!" 
 
 "There would be difficulties in the way of pre- 
 senting it in the open air," hazarded his Worship. 
 
 Mr. Bamberger, never impatient of stupidity, 
 opined that this could be got over easily. 
 
 "There 's all the material made to our hand. Eh, 
 Master? these old pensioners of yours in a pro- 
 cession? The public is always sentimental." 
 
 Master Blanchminster, rousing himself out of 
 reverie, made guarded answer that such an exhibi- 
 tion might be instructive, historically, for school- 
 children. 
 
 "An institution like this, supported by endow- 
 ments, don't need advertising, of course not for its 
 own sake," said Mr. Bamberger. "I was thinking 
 of what might be done indirectly for Merchester. 
 But you '11 excuse me, I must ride a notion when I 
 get astride of one St. Hospital would be no more 
 than what we call an episode. W T e 'd start with 
 Alfred the Great maybe before him; work down to 
 the Cathedral and its consecration and Sir John, 
 here, that is, of course, his ancestor swearing on 
 the Cross to depart for Jerusalem." 
 
 Sir John a Whig by five generations of descent 
 91
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 glanced at Mr. Bamberger uneasily. He had turned 
 Unionist when Mr. Gladstone embraced Home Rule; 
 and now, rather by force of circumstance than by 
 choice, he found himself Chairman of the Unionist 
 Committee for Merchester; in fact he, more than any 
 man, was responsible for Mr. Bamberger's represent- 
 ing Merchester in Parliament, and sometimes won- 
 dered how it had all come about. He answered these 
 rare questionings by telling himself that Disraeli, 
 whose portrait hung in his library, had also been a 
 Jew. But he did not quite understand it, or what 
 there was in Mr. Bamberger that personally repelled 
 him. 
 
 At any rate Sir John was pure Whig and to your 
 pure Whig personal dignity is everything. 
 
 "So long," murmured he, "as you don't ask me 
 to dress up and make myself a figure of fun." 
 
 The Bishop had already put the suggestion, so 
 far as it concerned him, aside with a tolerant smile, 
 which encouraged everything from which he, bien 
 entendu, was omitted. 
 
 Mr. Bamberger, scanning the line of faces with a 
 Jew's patient cunning, at length encountered the eye 
 of Mr. Colt, who at the farther end of the high table 
 was leaning forward to listen. 
 
 "You're my man," thought Mr. Bamberger. 
 " Though I don't know your name and maybe you 're 
 socially no great shakes; a chaplain by your look, 
 92
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 and High Church. You 're the useful one in this 
 gang." 
 
 He lifted his voice. 
 
 "You won't misunderstand me, Master," he said. 
 "I named the Cathedral and the Crusades because, 
 in Merchester, history cannot get away from the 
 Church. It 's her history that any pageant of Mer- 
 chester ought to illustrate primarily must, indeed: 
 her past glories, some day (please God) to be revived." 
 
 "And," said Mr. Bamberger some months later, 
 in private converse with his brother Isidore, "that 
 did it, though I say it who shouldn't. I froze on 
 that Colt straight; and Colt, you '11 allow, was trumps." 
 
 For the moment little more was said. The com- 
 pany at the high table, after grace a shorter one 
 this time, pronounced by the Chaplain bowed to 
 the Brethren and followed the Master upstairs to 
 the little room which had once served for espial- 
 chamber, but was now curtained cosily and spread 
 for dessert. 
 
 "By the way, Master," said the Bishop, suddenly 
 remembering the Petition in his pocket, and laughing 
 amicably as he dropped a lump of sugar into his 
 coffee, "what games have you been playing in St. 
 Hospital, that they accuse you of Romanising?" 
 
 The Master's ivory face flushed at the question. 
 
 "That was old Warboise," he answered nervously. 
 "I must apologise for the annoyance." 
 93
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Not at all not at all! It amused me, rather, 
 to be reminded that, as Visitor, I am a person in 
 St. Hospital, and still reckoned an important one. 
 Made me feel like an image in a niche subjected to a 
 sudden dusting. Who is this er, what-d'ye-call- 
 him? Warboise? An eccentric?" 
 
 "I will not say that. Old and opinionated, rather; 
 a militant Protestant " 
 
 "Ah, we know the sort. Shall we glance over his 
 screed? You permit me?" 
 
 "I was about to suggest your doing so. To tell 
 the truth, I am curious to be acquainted with the 
 charge against me." 
 
 The Bishop smiled, drew forth the paper from his 
 pocket, adjusted his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and 
 read 
 
 "To the Right Rev. Father in God, Walter, Lord 
 Bishop of Merchester. 
 
 "My Lord, We the undersigned, being Brethren 
 on the Blanchminster and Beauchamp foundations of 
 St. Hospital's College of Noble Poverty by Mcrton, 
 respectfully desire your lordship's attention to certain 
 abuses which of late have crept into this Society; and 
 particularly in the observances of religion. 
 
 "We contend (1) that, whereas our Reformed and 
 Protestant Church, in Number XXII of her Articles 
 of Religion declares the Romish doctrine of purgatory 
 94
 
 LOW AND HIGH TABLES 
 
 inter alia to be a fond thing vainly invented, etc., and 
 repugnant to the Word of God, yet prayers for the 
 dead have twice been publicly offered in our Chapel 
 and the practice defended, nay recommended, from its 
 pulpit. 
 
 "(2) That, whereas in Number XXVIII of the 
 same Articles the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper is 
 defined in intention, and tlie definition expressly 
 cleared to repudiate several practices not consonant 
 with it, certain of these have been observed of late in our 
 Chapel, to the scandal of the Church, and to the pain 
 and uneasiness of souls that were used to draw pure 
 refreshment from these Sacraments " 
 
 The Bishop paused. 
 
 "I say, Master, this Brother Warboise of yours 
 can write passable English." 
 
 " Warboise ? Warboise never wrote that never in 
 his life." 
 
 Master Blanchminster passed a hand over his 
 forehead. 
 
 "It 's Copas's handwriting!" announced Mr. Colt, 
 who had drawn close and, unpermitted, was staring 
 over the Bishop's shoulder at the manuscript. 
 
 The Bishop turned half about in his chair, slightly 
 affronted by this offence against good breeding; but 
 Mr. Colt was too far excited to guess the rebuke. 
 
 "Turn over the page, my lord." 
 95
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 As the Bishop turned it, on the impulse of surprise, 
 Mr. Colt pointed ,a forefinger. 
 
 "There it is half-way down the signatures! 'J. 
 Copas,' written in the same hand!" 
 
 96
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A PEACE-OFFERING 
 
 "'FEE, favv, fum! bubble and squeak! 
 
 Blessedest Thursday 's the fat of the week!'" 
 
 quoted Brother Copas from one of his favourite 
 poems. This was in the kitchen, three days later, 
 and he made one of the crowd edging, pushing, 
 pressing, each with plate in hand, around the great 
 table where the joints stood ready to be carved and 
 distributed. For save on Gaudy-days and great festi- 
 vals of the Church, the Brethren dine in their own 
 chambers, not in Hall; and on three days of the week 
 must fend for themselves on food purchased out 
 of their small allowances. But on Mondays, Tues- 
 days, Thursdays and Saturdays they fetch it from the 
 kitchen, taking their turns to choose the best cuts. 
 And this was Thursday and, as it happened, Brother 
 Copas stood first on the rota. 
 
 The rota hung on the kitchen wall in a frame of 
 
 oak canopied with faded velvet an ingenious and 
 
 puzzling contrivance, somewhat like the calendar 
 
 prefixed to the Book of Common Prayer, with the 
 
 97
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 names of the Brethren inserted on movable cards 
 worn greasy with handling. In system nothing 
 could be fairer; but in practice, human nature being 
 what it is, and the crowd without discipline, the 
 press and clamour about the table made choosing 
 difficult for the weaker ones. 
 
 " Brother Copas to choose! Brother Clerihew to 
 divide!" 
 
 "Aye," sang out Brother Copas cheerfully, "and 
 I '11 take my time about it. Make room, Woolcombe, 
 if you please, and take your elbow out of my ribs 
 don't I know the old trick? And stop pushing 
 you behind there! . . . 'Rats in a hamper, swine 
 in a sty, wasps in a bottle' Mrs. Royle, ma'am, I 
 am very sorry for your husband's rheumatism, but 
 it does not become a lady to show this indecent 
 haste." 
 
 " Indecent ? " shrilled Mrs. Royle. " Indecent, you 
 call me? you that pretend to ha' been a gentleman! 
 I reckon, if indecency 's the matter in these times, 
 I could talk to one or two of ye about it." 
 
 "Not a doubt of that, ma'am. . . . But really you 
 ladies have no right here: it 's clean against the rules, 
 and the hubbub you provoke is a scandal." 
 
 "Do you mean to insinuate, sir 
 
 "With your leave, ma'am, I mean to insinuate 
 myself between your skirts and the table from which 
 at this moment you debar me. Ah!" exclaimed
 
 A PEACE-OFFERING 
 
 Brother Copas as the cook whipped off the first 
 of the great dish covers, letting loose a cloud of 
 savoury steam. He sniffed at it. 
 
 " What 's this ? Boiled pork, and in June! We '11 
 have a look at the others, please. . . . Roast leg of 
 mutton, boiled neck and scrag of mutton aha! You 
 shall give me a cut of the roast, please; and start at 
 the knuckle end. Yes, Biscoe at the knuckle end." 
 
 Hate distorted Brother Biscoe's patriarchal face. 
 He came second on the rota, and roast knuckle of 
 mutton was the tit-bit dearest of all to his heart, as 
 Brother Copas knew. Brother Biscoe also had a 
 passion for the two first cutlets of a mutton-neck; 
 but he thought nothing of this in his rage. 
 
 "Please God it '11 choke ye!" he snarled. 
 
 "Dear Brother," said Copas amiably, "on Monday 
 last you helped me to the back of a duck." 
 
 "Hurry up there!" shouted Brother Woolcombe, 
 and swung round. "Are we all to get cold dinner 
 when these two old fools have done wrangling?" 
 
 "Fool yourself, Woolcombe!" Brother Biscoe like- 
 wise swung about. " Here 's Copas has brought two 
 plates! Isn't it time to speak up, when a rogue 's 
 caught cheating?" 
 
 One or two cried out that he ought to lose his turn 
 for it. 
 
 "My friends," said Brother Copas, not at all per- 
 turbed, "the second plate is for Brother Bonaday's 
 99
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 dinner, when his turn arrives. He has a heart-attack 
 to-day, and cannot come for himself." 
 
 "A heart-Sittackl" sniggered Mrs. Royle, her voice 
 rising shrill above the din. " Oh, save us if we didn't 
 all know that news!" 
 
 Laughter crackled like musketry about Brother 
 Copas's ears, laughter to him quite meaningless. It 
 was plain that all shared some joke against his friend 
 Bonaday; but he had no clue. 
 
 "And," pursued Mrs. Royle, "here 's his best 
 friend tellin' us as 'tis a scandal the way women push 
 themselves into St. Hospital 'when they 're not 
 wanted,' did I hear you say, sir? Yes, 'a scandal' 
 he said, and 'indecent'; which I leave it to you is 
 pretty strong language as addressed to a woman 
 what has her marriage lines I should hope!" 
 
 Brother Copas, bewildered by this onslaught or, 
 as he put it later, comparing the encounter with that 
 between Socrates and Gorgias the Sophist drenched 
 with that woman's slop-pail of words and blinded for 
 the moment, received his portion of mutton and drew 
 aside, vanquished amid peals of laughter, of which 
 he guessed only from its note that the allusion had 
 been disgusting. Indeed, the whole atmosphere of 
 the kitchen sickened him; even the portion of mut- 
 ton cooling on his plate raised his gorge in physical 
 loathing. But Brother Bonaday lay helpless in his 
 chamber, without food. Remembering this, Brother 
 100
 
 A PEACE-OFFERING 
 
 Copas stood his ground and waited, with the spare 
 plate ready for the invalid's portion. 
 
 The babel went on as one after another fought for 
 the spoil. They had forgotten him, and those at the 
 back of the crowd had found a new diversion in 
 hustling old Biscoe as he struggled to get away with 
 his two cutlets of half- warm mutton. 
 
 Brother Copas held his gaze upon the joints. His 
 friend's turn came all but last on the rota; and by 
 perversity but who could blame it, in the month of 
 June? everyone eschewed the pork and bid emu- 
 lously for the mutton, roast or boiled. He knew that 
 Brother Bonaday abhorred pork, which, moreover, 
 was indigestible, and by consequence bad for a weak 
 heart. He stood and watched, gradually losing all 
 hope except to capture a portion of the mutton near 
 the scrag-end. As for the leg, it had speedily been 
 
 cleaned to the bone. 
 
 i 
 
 At the last moment a ray of hope shot up, as an 
 expiring candle flames in the socket. Brother Inch- 
 bald a notoriously stingy man whose turn came 
 immediately before Brother Bonaday's, seemed to 
 doubt that enough of the scrag remained to eke out 
 a full portion; and bent towards the dish of pork, 
 fingering his chin. Copas seized the moment to push 
 his empty plate towards the mutton, stealthily, as 
 one forces a card. 
 
 As he did so, another roar of laughter coarser 
 101
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 than before drew him to glance over his shoulder. 
 The cause of it was Nurse Branscome, entering by 
 way of the refectory, with a hot plate held in a 
 napkin between her hands. 
 
 She paused on the threshold, as though the rib- 
 aldry took her in the face like a blast of hot wind. 
 
 "Oh, I am late!" she cried. "I came to fetch 
 Brother Bonaday's dinner. Until five minutes ago 
 no one told me " 
 
 "It 's all right," called back Brother Copas, still 
 looking over his shoulder while his right hand ex- 
 tended the plate. 
 
 " His turn is just called, and I am getting it for him. " 
 
 Strange to say, his voice reached the Nurse across 
 an almost dead silence; for the laughter had died 
 down at sight of a child Corona beside her in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " But your plate will be cold. Here, change it for 
 mine!" 
 
 "Well thought upon! Wait a second!" 
 
 But before Brother Copas could withdraw the plate 
 a dollop of meat had been dumped upon it. 
 
 "Eh? but wait look here! " 
 
 He turned about, stared at the plate, stared from 
 the plate to the dish of scrag. The meat on the plate 
 was pork, and the dish of scrag was empty. Brother 
 Inchbald had changed his mind at the last moment 
 and chosen mutton. 
 
 102
 
 A PEACE-OFFERING 
 
 The Brethren, led by Mrs. Royle, cackled again at 
 sight of his dismay. One or two still hustled Brother 
 Biscoe as he fought his way to the foot of the refectory 
 steps, at the head of which Nurse Branscome barred 
 the exit, with Corona holding fast by her hand and 
 wondering. 
 
 "But what is it all about?" asked the child. 
 
 "Hush!" The Nurse squeezed her hand, mean- 
 ing that she must have courage. "We have come 
 too late, and the dinner is all shared up or all of 
 it that would do your father good." 
 
 "But" Corona dragged her small hand loose 
 "there is plenty left; and when they know he is sick 
 they will make it all right. ... If you please, sir," 
 she spoke up, planting her small body in front of 
 Brother Biscoe as he would have pushed past with 
 his plate, " my father is sick, and Nurse says he must 
 not eat the meat that 's left on the dish there. Won't 
 you give me that on your plate?" 
 
 She stretched out a hand for it, and Brother Biscoe, 
 spent with senile wrath at this last interruption of his 
 escape, was snatching back the food, ready to curse 
 her, when Brother Copas came battling through the 
 press, holding both his plates high and hailing 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "I forgot," he panted, and held up the plate in his 
 left hand. " Bonaday can have the knuckle. I had 
 first choice to-day." 
 
 103
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "He ought not to eat roasted meat," said Nurse 
 Branscome slowly. " I am sorry. You are good and 
 will be disappointed. The smallest bit of boiled, 
 now were it only the scrag 
 
 "Why," bustled Brother Copas, "Brother Biscoe 
 has the very thing, then the two best cutlets at the 
 bottom of the neck. And, what 's more, he'll be only 
 too glad to exchange 'em for the roast knuckle here, 
 as I happen to know." 
 
 He thrust the tit-bit upon Brother Biscoe, who 
 hesitated a moment between hate and greed, and 
 snatched the cutlets from him before hate could weigh 
 down the balance. 
 
 Brother Biscoe, clutching the transferred plate, 
 fled ungraciously, without a word of thanks. Nurse 
 Branscome stayed but a moment to thank Brother 
 Copas for his cleverness, and hurried off with Corona 
 to hot-up the plate of mutton for the invalid. 
 
 They left Brother Copas eyeing his dismal pork. 
 
 "And in June, too!" he murmured. "No: a man 
 must protect himself. I '11 have to eke out to-day on 
 biscuits." 
 
 104
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 BROTHER BONADAY'S heart-attacks, sharp while they 
 lasted, were soon over. Towards evening he had so 
 far recovered that the Nurse saw no harm in his 
 taking a short stroll, with Brother Copas for socius. 
 
 The two old men made their way down to the river 
 as usual, and there Brother Copas forced his friend 
 to sit and rest on a bench beside the clear-running 
 water. 
 
 "We had better not talk," he suggested, "but just 
 sit quiet and let the fresh air do you good." 
 
 "But I wish to talk. I am quite strong enough." 
 
 "Talk about what?" 
 
 "About the child. . . . We must be getting her 
 educated, I suppose." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Brother Bonaday, seated with palms crossed over 
 the head of his staff, gazed in an absent-minded way 
 at the water-weeds trailing in the current. 
 
 " She's an odd child ; curiously shrewd in some ways 
 and curiously innocent in others, and for ever asking 
 105
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 questions. She put me a teaser yesterday. She can 
 read pretty well, and I set her to read a chapter of 
 the Bible. By and by she looked up and wanted to 
 know why God lived apart from His wife!" 
 
 Brother Copas grunted his amusement. 
 
 "Did you tell her?'* 
 
 "I invented some answer, of course. I don't be- 
 lieve it satisfied her I am not good at explanation 
 but she took it quietly, as if she put it aside to think 
 over." 
 
 "The Athanasian Creed is not easily edited for 
 children. ... If she can read, the likelihood is she 
 can also write. Does a girl need to learn much 
 beyond that? No, I am not jesting. It 's a ques- 
 tion upon which I have never quite made up my 
 mind." 
 
 "I had hoped to find you keener," said Brother 
 Bonaday with a small sigh. Now I see that you will 
 probably laugh at what I am going to confess. . . . 
 Last night, as I sat a while before going to bed, I 
 found myself hearkening for the sound of her breath- 
 ing in the next room. After a bit, when a minute or 
 so went by and I could hear nothing, a sort of panic 
 took me that some harm had happened to her: till 
 I could stand it no longer, but picked up the lamp 
 and crept in for a look. There she lay sleeping, 
 healthy and sound, and prettier than you 'd ever think. 
 ... I crept back to my chair, and a foolish sort of 
 106
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 hope came over me that, with her health and wits, 
 and being brought up unlike other children, she might 
 come one day to be a little lady and the pride of the 
 
 place, in a way of speaking ' 
 
 "A sort of Lady Jane Grey, in modest fashion 
 is that what you mean?" suggested Brother Copas 
 
 "'Like Her most gentle most unfortunate, 
 
 Crowned but to die who in her chamber sate 
 Musing with Plato, tho' the horn was blown, 
 And every ear and every heart was won, 
 And all in green array were chasing down the sun.' 
 
 Well, if she 's willing, as unofficial godfather I might 
 make a start with the Latin declensions. It would 
 be an experiment: I 've never tried teaching a girl. 
 And I never had a child of my own, Brother; but I 
 can understand just what you dreamed, and the Lord 
 punish me if I feel like laughing." 
 
 He said it with an open glance at his friend. But 
 it found no responsive one. Brother Bonaday's brow 
 had contracted, as with a spasm of the old pain, and 
 his eyes still scrutinised the trailing weeds in Mere 
 river. 
 
 " If ever a man had warning to be done with life, " 
 said Brother Bonaday after a long pause, "I had it 
 this forenoon. But it 's wonderful what silly hopes a 
 child will breed in a man." 
 
 Brother Copas nodded. 
 
 107
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Aye, we '11 have a shot with her. But Oh, good 
 Lord! Here 's the Chaplain coming." 
 
 "Ah, Copas so here you are!" sung out Mr. Colt 
 as he approached with his long stride up the towpath. 
 "Nurse Branscome told me I should find you here. 
 Good evening, Bonaday!" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 Copas stood up and inclined his body stiffly. 
 
 "I hope, sir," was his rebuke, "I have not wholly 
 forfeited the title of Brother?" 
 
 The Chaplain flushed. 
 
 " I bring a message, " he said. " The Master wishes 
 to see you, at half-past six." 
 
 "That amounts to a command." 
 
 Brother Copas pulled out his watch. 
 
 "I may as well warn you," the Chaplain pursued. 
 "You will be questioned on your share in that 
 offensive Petition. As it appears, you were even 
 responsible for composing it." 
 
 Brother Copas's eyebrows went up. 
 
 "Is it possible, sir, that you recognised the style? 
 . . . Ah, no; the handwriting must have been your 
 index. The Bishop showed it to you, then?" 
 
 "I er have been permitted to glance it over." 
 
 "Over his shoulder, if I may make a guess," mur- 
 mured Brother Copas, putting his watch away and 
 searching for his snuff-box. 
 108
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 "Anyway, you signed it: as Bon as Brother Bona- 
 day here was too sensible to do: though," added Mr. 
 Colt, " his signature one could at least have respected." 
 Brother Copas tapped his snuff-box, foreseeing com- 
 edy. 
 
 "And why not mine, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, come, come! " blurted the Chaplain. " I take 
 you to be a man of some education." 
 
 "Is that indeed the reason?" 
 
 "A man of some education, I say." 
 
 "And I hear you, sir." Brother Copas bowed. 
 " 'Praise from Sir Richard Strahan is praise indeed' 
 though my poor friend here seems to get the back- 
 hand of the compliment." 
 
 "And it is incredible you should go with the igno- 
 rant herd and believe us Clergy of the Church of 
 England to be heading for Rome, as your Petition 
 asserts." 
 
 Brother Copas slowly inhaled a pinch. 
 
 " In England, Mr. Chaplain, the ignorant herd has, 
 by the admission of other nations, a practical political 
 sense, and a somewhat downright way with it. It 
 sees you reverting to many doctrines and uses from 
 which the Reformation cut us free or, if you prefer 
 it, cut us loose; doctrines and uses which the Church 
 of Rome has taught and practised without a break. 
 It says this ignorant herd ' If these fellows are not 
 heading for Rome, then where the dickens are they 
 109
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 heading?' Forgive this blunt way of putting it, but 
 the question is not so blunt as it looks. It is on the 
 contrary extremely shrewd; and until you High An- 
 glicans answer it candidly, the ignorant herd will 
 suspect and you know, sir, the lower classes are 
 incurably suspicious either that yourselves do not 
 know, or that you know and won't tell." 
 
 "You say," answered Mr. Colt, "that we revert to 
 many doctrines and uses which, since the Romish 
 clergy preach and practise them, are ignorantly sup- 
 posed to belong to Rome. But 'many' is not 'all'; 
 nor does it include the most radical doctrine of all. 
 How can we intend Romanising while we deny the 
 supreme authority of the Pope? or Bishop of Rome 
 as I should prefer to call him." 
 
 "Fairly countered," replied Brother Copas, taking 
 another pinch ; " though the ignorant herd would have 
 liked better an answer to its question. You deny the 
 supreme authority of the Pope? Very well. Whose, 
 then, do you accept?" 
 
 "The authority of Christ, committed to His 
 Church." 
 
 "Oh, la, la, la! ... I should have said, Whose 
 authoritative interpretation of Christ's authority?" 
 
 "The Church's." 
 
 "Aye? Through whose mouth? We shall get at 
 something definite in time. . . . I'll put it more sim- 
 ply. You, sir, are a plain priest in holy orders, and 
 110
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 it's conceivable that on some point of use or doctrine 
 you may be in error. Just conceivable, hey ? At all 
 events, you may be accused of it. To whom, then, 
 do you appeal? To the King? Parliament? the 
 Court of Arches, or any other Court? Not a bit 
 of it. Well, let 's try again. Is it to the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury? Or to your own Diocesan?" 
 
 "I should appeal to the sanction of the Church 
 Catholic as given in her ancient Councils." 
 
 "And again as nowadays interpreted by whom? 
 Let us pass a hundred possible points on which no 
 Council bothered its head, and on which consequently 
 it has left no decision. Who 's the man, anywhere, 
 to take you by the scruff of the neck and chastise you 
 for an error?" 
 
 " Within the limits of conscience I should, of course, 
 bow to my Diocesan." 
 
 "Elastic limits, Mr. Colt! and, substituting Brother 
 Warboise's conscience for yours, precisely the limits 
 within which Brother Warboise bows to you! Anar- 
 chy will obey anything * within the limits of conscience* 
 that 's precisely what anarchy means; and even so 
 and to that extent will you obey Bishop or Archbishop. 
 In your heart you deny their authority; in speech, in 
 practice, you never lose an occasion of flouting them 
 and showing them up for fools. Take this Education 
 Squabble for an example. The successor to the Chair 
 of Augustine, good man he 's, after all, your Metro- 
 Ill
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 politan runs around doing his best to discover a 
 way out, to patch up a 'concordat/ as they call it? 
 What 's the effect upon any Diocesan Conference? 
 Up springs subaltern after subaltern, fired with zeal 
 to give his commander away. 'Our beloved Arch- 
 bishop, in his saintly trustfulness, is bargaining away 
 our rights as Churchmen' all the indiscipline of a 
 middle-class private school (and I know what that is, 
 Mr. Colt, having kept one) translated into the senti- 
 mental erotics of a young ladies' academy!" 
 
 Mr. Colt gasped. 
 
 "And so, believe me, sir," concluded Brother Copas, 
 snapping down the lid of his snuff-box, " this country 
 of ours did not get rid of the Pope in order to make 
 room for a thousand and one Popelings, each in his 
 separate parish practising what seems right in his 
 own eyes. At any rate, let us say, remembering the 
 parable of the room swept and garnished, it intended 
 no such result. Let us agree, Mr. Chaplain, to econo- 
 mise in Popes, and to condemn that business of Avig- 
 non. So the ignorant herd comes back on you with 
 two questions, which in effect are one: 'If not mere 
 anarchists, what authority own you ? And if not for 
 Rome, for what in the world are you heading?' You 
 ask Rome to recognise your orders. Mais, soyez con- 
 sequent, monsieur." 
 
 It was Mr. Colt's turn to pull out his watch. 
 
 "Permit me to remind you," he said, "that you, at 
 112
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 any rate, have to own an authority, and that the 
 Master will be expecting you at six-thirty sharp. For 
 the rest, sir, you cannot think that thoughtful Church- 
 men have no answer to these questions, if put by any- 
 one with the right to put them. But you not even 
 a communicant! Will you dare to use these argu- 
 ments to the Master, for instance?" 
 
 "He had the last word there," said Brother Copas, 
 pocketing his snuff-box and gazing after the Chap- 
 lain's athletic figure as it swung away up the tow- 
 path. " He gave me no time to answer that one suits 
 an argument to the adversary. The Master ? Could 
 I present anything so crude to one who, though lazy, 
 is yet a scholar? who has certainly fought this thing 
 through, after his lights, and would get me entangled 
 in the Councils of Carthage and Constance, St. Cyp- 
 rian and the rest? . . . Colt quotes the ignorant 
 herd to me, and I put him the ignorant herd's question 
 without getting a reply." 
 
 "You did not allow him much time for one," said 
 Brother Bonaday mildly. 
 
 Brother Copas stared at him, drew out his watch 
 again, and chuckled. 
 
 " You 're right. I lose count of time, defending 
 my friends; and this is your battle I 'm fighting, 
 remember." 
 
 He offered his arm, and the two friends started to 
 113
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 walk back towards St. Hospital. They had gone but 
 a dozen yards when a childish voice hailed them, and 
 Corona came skipping along the bank. 
 
 "Daddy! you are to come home at once! It 's 
 past six o'clock, and Branny says the river fog 's bad 
 for you." 
 
 "Home?" echoed Brother Bonaday inattentively. 
 The word had been unfamiliar to him for some years, 
 and his old brain did not grasp it for a moment. His 
 eyes seemed to question the child as she stood before 
 him panting, her hair dishevelled. 
 
 "Aye, Brother," said Copas with a glance at him, 
 "you '11 have to get used to it again, and good luck 
 to you! What says the pessimist, that American 
 fellow? 
 
 "'Nowhere to go but out, 
 Nowhere to come but back' 
 
 Missy don't agree with her fellow-countryman, eh?" 
 
 His eye held a twinkle of mischief. 
 
 "He isn't my fellow-countryman!" Corona pro- 
 tested vehemently. " I 'm English amn't I, Daddy ? " 
 
 "There, there forgive me, little one! And you 
 really don't want to leave us just yet?" 
 
 " Leave you ?" The child took Brother Bonaday's 
 
 hand and hugged it close. "Uncle Copas, if you 
 
 won't laugh I want to tell something what they 
 
 call confessing." She hesitated for a moment. 
 
 114
 
 BY MERE RIVER 
 
 " Haven't you ever felt you 've got something inside, 
 and how awful good it is to confess and get it off your 
 chest?" 
 
 Brother Copas gave a start, and eyed his fellow- 
 Protestant. 
 
 "Well?" he said after a pause. 
 
 "Well, it 's this way," confessed Corona. "I can't 
 say my prayers yet in this place not to get any heft 
 on them; and that makes me feel bad, you know. I 
 start along with 'Our Father, which art in heaven,' 
 and it 's like calling up a person on the 'phone when 
 he 's close at your elbow all the time. Then I say 
 'God bless St. Hospital,' and there I 'm stuck; it 
 don't seem I want to worry God to oblige beyond that. 
 So I fetch back and start telling how glad I am to be 
 home as if God didn't know and that bats me up 
 to St. Hospital again. I got stone-walled that way 
 five times last night. What 's the sense of asking 
 to go to heaven when you don't particularly want 
 to?" 
 
 "Child," Brother Copas answered, "keep as hon- 
 est as that and peg away. You '11 find your prayers 
 straighten themselves out all right." 
 
 "Sure? . . . Well, that 's a comfort: because, of 
 course, I don't want to go to hell either. It would 
 never do. ... But why are you puckering up your 
 eyes so?" 
 
 "I was thinking," said Brother Copas, "that I 
 115
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 might start teaching you Latin. Your father and I 
 were discussing it just now. " 
 
 "Would he like me to learn it?" 
 
 " It 's the only way to find out all that St. Hospital 
 means, including all it has meant for hundreds of 
 years. . . . Bless me, is that the quarter chiming? 
 Take your father's hand and lead him home, child. 
 Venit Hesperus, ite capellce." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 " It 's Latin, " said Brother Copas. " It 's a a kind 
 of absolution." 
 
 116
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 ALTHOUGH the month was June and the evening 
 warm, Master Blanchminster sat huddled in his arm- 
 chair before a bright fire. A table stood at his elbow, 
 with some books upon it, his untasted glass of wine, 
 and half a dozen letters his evening's post. But 
 the Master leaned forward, spreading his delicate 
 fingers to the warmth and, between them, gazing into 
 the core of the blaze. 
 
 The butler ushered in Brother Copas and with- 
 drew, after a glance at the lights. Two wax candles 
 burned upon the writing-table upon the oriel, and on 
 the side-table an electric lamp shaded with green silk 
 faintly silhouetted the Master's features. Brother Co- 
 pas, standing a little within the doorway, remarked 
 to himself that the old gentleman had aged of late. 
 
 "Ah, Brother Copas? Yes, I sent for you," said 
 the Master, rousing himself as if from a brown study. 
 " Be seated, please. " 
 
 He pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the 
 hearth; and Brother Copas, seating himself with a 
 117
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 bow, spread the worn skirt of his Beauchamp robe, 
 and arranged its folds over his knees. The firelight 
 sparkled upon the Beauchamp rose on his breast, and 
 seemed to hold the Master's eye as he looked up after 
 a pause. 
 
 "You guess, no doubt, why I sent for you?" 
 
 Brother Copas inclined his head. 
 
 "It concerns the Petition which Brother Warboise 
 presented to the Bishop last Monday. I am not com- 
 plaining just now of his fashion of procedure, which 
 I may hazard was not of your suggestion. " 
 
 "It was not, Master. I may say so much, having 
 warned him that I should say it if questioned." 
 
 "Yet you wrote out and signed the Petition, and, 
 if I may hazard again, composed it?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " I have, " said Master Blanchminster, studying the 
 back of his hands as he held his palms to the fire, " no 
 right to force any man's conscience. But it seemed 
 to me, if I may say so, that while all were forcibly 
 put, certain of your arguments ignored or, let me 
 rather say, passed over points which must have oc- 
 curred to a man of your learning. Am I mistaken?" 
 
 "You understand, Master," said Brother Copas, 
 slightly embarrassed, and slightly the more embar- 
 rassed because the Master, after asking the question, 
 seemed inclined to relapse into his own thoughts, 
 " the petition was not mine only. I had to compose 
 118
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 it for all the signatories; and that, in any public busi- 
 ness, involves striking a mean." 
 
 "I understand even more," said the Master, rous- 
 ing himself, and reaching for a copy of the Petition, 
 which lay among his papers. "I understand that I 
 have no right to cross-question a man on his share in 
 a document which six or eight others have signed. 
 Shall it be further understood" he looked up with 
 a quick smile of goodness, whereat Brother Copas felt 
 ashamed " that I sent for you as a friend, and that 
 you may speak frankly, if you will so honour me, with- 
 out fear of my remembering a word to your incon- 
 venience?" 
 
 "And since you so honour me, Master," said 
 Brother Copas, " I am ready to answer all you ask. " 
 
 " Well, then, I have read with particular interest, 
 what you have to say here about the practice of^con- 
 fession. (This, by the way, is a typed copy, with 
 which the Bishop has been kind enough to supply 
 me.) You have, I assume, no belief in it or in the 
 efficacy of the absolution that follows it." 
 
 The Master, searching for a paragraph, did not 
 perceive that Brother Copas flushed slightly. 
 
 "And," he continued, as he found the passage and 
 laid his finger on it, " although you set out your argu- 
 ments with point with fairness, too, let me add I 
 am perhaps not very far wrong in guessing that you 
 have for Confession an instinctive dislike which to 
 119
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 your own mind means more than any argument you 
 use." 
 
 The Master looked up with a smile; but by this 
 time Brother Copas's flush had faded. 
 
 "You may say that, Master, of the whole docu- 
 ment. I am an old man far too old to have my be- 
 liefs and disbeliefs quickened by argument. They 
 have long since hardened into prejudices; and, speak- 
 ing generally, I have a prejudice against this setting 
 of old men by the ears with a lot of Neo-Catholic 
 stuff which irritates half of us while all are equally 
 past being provoked to any vital good." 
 
 The Master sighed, for he understood. 
 
 "I too am old," he answered, "older even than 
 you; and as death draws nearer I incline with you, 
 to believe that the fewer our words on these ques- 
 tions that separate us the better. (There 's a fine 
 passage to that effect in one of Jowett's Introduc- 
 tions, you may remember the Phoedo, I think.) 
 Least said is soonest mended, and good men are too 
 honest to go out of the world professing more than 
 they know. Since we are opening our minds a little 
 beyond our wont, let me tell you exactly what is my 
 own prejudice, as you would call it. To me Con- 
 fession has been a matter of happy experience I am 
 speaking now of younger days, at Cuddesdon 
 
 "Ah!" breathed Copas. 
 
 " And the desire to offer to others what has been a 
 120
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 great blessing to myself, has at times been very strong. 
 But I recognised that the general English mind 
 yes, I'll grant you, the general healthy English mind 
 had its prejudice too; a prejudice so sturdy against 
 Confession, that it seemed to me I should alienate 
 more souls than I attracted and breed more ill-temper 
 than charity to cover it. So weakly perhaps I 
 never spoke of it in sermons, and by consequence no 
 Brother of St. Hospital has ever sought from me that 
 comfort which my conscience all the while would 
 have approved of giving." 
 
 Brother Copas bowed his head for sign that he 
 understood. 
 
 " But excuse me, Master you say that you found 
 profit in Confession at Cuddesdon; that is, when I 
 dare say your manhood was young and in ferment. 
 Be it granted that just at such a crisis, Confession may 
 be salutary. Have you found it profitable in later life ? " 
 
 "I cannot," the Master answered, "honestly say 
 more than that no doubt of it has ever occurred to 
 me, and for the simple reason that I have not tried. 
 But I see at what you are driving that we of St. 
 Hospital are too old to taste its benefit? . . . Yet 
 I should have thought that even in age it might bring 
 comfort to some; and, if so, why should the others 
 complain ? " 
 
 "For the offence it carries as an infraction of the 
 reformed doctrine under which they supposed them- 
 121
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 selves to order their lives and worship. They con- 
 tend, Master, that they are all members of one So- 
 ciety; and if the doctrine of that Society be infringed 
 to comfort A or B, it is to that extent weakened in- 
 juriously for C and D, who have been building their 
 everlasting and only hope on it, and have grown too 
 old to change." 
 
 "But," answered Master Blanchminster, pinning 
 his finger on the paragraph, "you admit here that 
 even the reformed Church, in the Order for the Visi- 
 tation of the Sick, enjoins Confession and prescribes 
 a form of absolution. Now if a man be not too old 
 for it when he is dying, a fortiori he cannot be too old 
 for it at any previous time." 
 
 Brother Copas rubbed his hands together softly, 
 gleefully. He adored dialectic. 
 
 "With your leave, Master," he replied, "dying is 
 a mighty singular business. The difference between 
 it and growing old cannot be treated as a mere matter 
 of degree. Now one of the points I make is that 
 the Church, by expressly allowing Confession on this 
 singular occasion, while saying nothing about it on 
 any other thereby inferentially excludes it on all 
 others or discountenances it, to say the least." 
 
 "There I join issue with you, maintaining that all 
 
 such occasions are covered by the general authority 
 
 bestowed at Ordination with the laying-on of hands 
 
 'Whose sins thou dost forgive they are forgiven/ 
 
 122
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 etc. To construe an open exhortation in one of her 
 offices as a silent denunciation in all the rest seems 
 
 For the next few minutes the pair enjoyed them- 
 selves to the top of their bent, until, as the Master 
 pushed aside some papers on the table to get at his 
 Prayer Book to prove that No. XXV of the Articles 
 of Religion did not by its wording disparage abso- 
 lution his eye fell on a letter which lay uppermost. 
 He paused midway in a sentence, picked the thing 
 up and held it for a moment disgustedly between 
 forefinger and thumb. 
 
 "Brother Copas," he said with a change of voice, 
 "we lose ourselves in logomarchy, and I had rather 
 hark back to a word you let drop a while ago about 
 the Brotherhood. You spoke of 'setting old men 
 by the ears.' Do you mean it seriously that our 
 Brethren, just now, are not dwelling in concord?" 
 
 "God bless your innocent old heart!" murmured 
 Brother Copas under his breath. Aloud he said, 
 "Men of the Brethren's age, Master, are not always 
 amiable; and the tempers of their women-folk are 
 sometimes unlovely. We are, after all, failures in life, 
 and to have lived night and day beside anyone of us 
 can be no joke." 
 
 The Master, with his body half-turned towards the 
 reading-lamp, still held the letter and eyed it at arm's 
 length. 
 
 123
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "I observed," he said after a while, "that Brother 
 Bonaday did not sign your Petition. Yet I had sup- 
 posed him to be an Evangelical, and everyone knows 
 you two to be close friends." The Master mused 
 again. "Pardon me, but he has some reason, of 
 course?" 
 
 "He has." 
 
 "Which you are not at liberty to tell me?" 
 
 "That is so." 
 
 "Ah, well," said the Master, turning and facing 
 about on Brother Copas with a sudden resolve. " I 
 wonder if to leave this matter of the Petition you 
 can tell me something else concerning your friend, 
 something which, if you can .answer it so as to help 
 him, will also lift a sad weight off my mind. If you 
 cannot, I shall equally forget that the question was 
 ever put or the answer withheld. . . . To be candid, 
 when you were shown in I was stiting here in great 
 distress of mind." 
 
 "Surely not about Bonaday, Master?" said 
 Brother Copas, wondering. 
 
 "About Bonaday, yes." The Master inclined his 
 head. "Poison it has been running through my 
 thoughts all the while we have been talking. I sup- 
 pose I ought not to show you this; the fire is its only 
 proper receptacle 
 
 "Poison?" echoed Brother Copas. "And about 
 Bonaday? who, good soul, never hurt a fly!" 
 124
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 "I rejoice to hear you say it," said the Master, 
 plainly relieved, and he appeared half-minded to with- 
 draw and pocket the scrap of paper for which Copas 
 held out a hand. " It is an anonymous letter, and 
 er evidently the product of a foul mind " 
 
 Brother Copas took it and, fumbling for his glasses, 
 gazed around in search of the handiest light by which 
 to read it. Master Blanchminster hurried to catch up 
 the electric lamp and set it on the mantel-shelf above 
 his shoulder. Its coil of silk-braided wire dragging 
 across the papers on the table, one or two dropped 
 on the floor; and whilst the Master stooped to collect 
 them Brother Copas read the letter, first noting at a 
 glance that the paper was cheap and the handwriting, 
 though fairly legible, at once uneducated and pain- 
 fully disguised. 
 
 It ran 
 
 "Master, This is to warn you that you are too 
 kind and anyone can take you in. It wasn't enough 
 Bonaday should get the best rooms in S. Hospital, 
 but now you give him leave for this child which every 
 one in S. Hospital knows is a bastard. If you want to 
 find tJie mother, no need to go far. Why is Nurse 
 
 B hanging about his rooms now? Which they 
 
 didn't carry it so far before, but they was acquainted 
 
 years ago, as is common talk. God knows my reasons 
 
 for writing this much are honest: but I hate to see your 
 
 125
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 goodness put upon, and a scandal which the whole S. 
 Hospital feels bitter about such letchery and wicked- 
 ness in our midst, and nobody knowing how to put a 
 stop to it all. 
 
 " Yours obd a -> 
 
 "A Well Wisher." 
 
 "The handwriting," said Brother Copas, "is a 
 woman's, though disguised." 
 
 The Master, erect again, having collected his papers, 
 eyed Brother Copas as if surprised by his calm tone. 
 
 "You make nothing of it, then?" 
 
 "Fst!" 
 
 "I I was hoping so." The Master's voice was 
 tremulous, apologetic. "It came by this evening's 
 post, not half an hour ago. ... I am not used 
 to receive such things: yet I know what ought to be 
 done with them toss them into the fire at once and 
 dismiss them from your mind. I make no doubt I 
 should have burnt it within another ten minutes: as 
 for cleansing one's mind of it so quickly, that must be 
 a counsel of perfection. But you were shown in, and 
 I I made certain that you could contradict this dis- 
 graceful report and set my mind at rest. Forgive 
 me." 
 
 "Ah, Master" Brother Copas glanced up with a 
 quick smile "it almost looks as if you were right 
 after all, and one is never too old to confess!" He 
 126
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 bent and held the edge of the paper close to the blaze. 
 "May I burn it?" 
 
 "By all means." 
 
 "Nay, then, I won't. But since you have freely 
 parted with it, may I keep it? ... I have had 
 some little experience with manuscripts, and it is just 
 possible I may trace this to the writer who is as- 
 suredly a woman," added Brother Copas, studying 
 the letter again. 
 
 "You have my leave to do so." 
 
 " And you ask no further question ? " 
 
 The Master hesitated. At length he said firmly 
 
 "None. I have no right. How can so foul a 
 thing confer any right?" 
 
 Brother Copas was silent for a space. 
 
 "Nay, that is true, Master; it cannot. . . . Nev- 
 ertheless, I will answer what was in your mind to 
 ask. When I came into the room you were pondering 
 this letter. The thought of it pah! mixed itself 
 up with a thought of the appointment you had set 
 for me with the Petition; and the two harked back 
 together upon a question you put to me just now. 
 'Why was not Brother Bonaday among the signa- 
 tories?' Between them they turned that question 
 into a suspicion. Guilty men are seldom bold: as 
 the Scots say, 'Riven breeks sit still.' . . . Was not 
 this, or something like it, in your mind, sir?" 
 
 " I confess that it was." 
 127
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " Why then, Master, I too will confess I that came 
 to you to denounce the practice. Of what this letter 
 hints Bonaday is innocent as as you are. He 
 approved of the Petition and was on the point of 
 signing it; but he desired your good leave to make a 
 home for his child. Between parent and Protestant 
 my friend was torn, and moreover between conscience 
 and loyalty. He could not sue for this favour from 
 you, his soul weighted with an intention to go straight- 
 way and do what must offend you." 
 
 Master Blanchminster faced Brother Copas square- 
 ly, standing of a sudden erect. It seemed to add 
 inches to his stature. 
 
 "Had he so poor a trust in me, after these years?" 
 
 "No, Master." Brother Copas bent his head. 
 "That is where I come in. All this is but prepar- 
 atory. ... I am a fraud as little Protestant as 
 Catholic. I found my friend in straits, and made a 
 bargain with those who were pressing him 
 
 "Do I understand, Brother Copas, that this Peti- 
 tion of which all the strength lies in its scholarship 
 and wording is yours, and that on these terms only 
 you have given me so much pain?" 
 
 "You may put it so, Master, and I can say no 
 more than 'yes' though I might yet plead that some- 
 thing is wrong with St. Hospital, and 
 
 "Something is very wrong with St. Hospital," 
 interrupted the Master gravely. "This letter if it 
 128
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 
 
 come from within our walls But I after all, as 
 
 its Master, am ultimately to blame." He paused 
 for a moment and looked up. with a sudden winning 
 smile. "We have both confessed some sins. Shall 
 we say a prayer together, Brother?" 
 
 The two old men knelt by the hearth there. To- 
 gether in silence they bowed their heads. 
 
 129
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 BROTHER COPAS ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 "You ought to write a play," said Mrs. Simeon. 
 
 Mr. Simeon looked up from his dinner and stared 
 at his wife as though she had suddenly taken leave 
 of her senses. She sat holding a fork erect and close 
 to her mouth, with a morsel of potato ready to be 
 popped in as soon as she should finish devouring a 
 paragraph of The People newspaper, folded beside 
 her plate. In a general way Mrs. Simeon was not a 
 reader; but on Mondays (washing-days) she regu- 
 larly had the loan of a creased copy of The People 
 from a neighbour who, having but a couple of chil- 
 dren, could afford to buy and peruse it on the day of 
 issue. There is much charity among the working poor. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon, my dear?" Mr. Simeon 
 murmured, after gently admonishing his second son 
 (Eustace, aged 11, named after the Master) for flip- 
 ping bread pills across the table. " I am afraid I did 
 not catch " 
 
 " I see there 's a man has made forty thousand 
 pounds by writing one. And he did it in three weeks, 
 130
 
 ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 after beginning as a clerk in the stationery. . . . 
 Forty thousand pounds, only think! That 's what I 
 call turning cleverness to account." 
 
 "But, my love, I don't happen to be clever/' pro- 
 tested Mr. Simeon. 
 
 His wife swallowed her morsel of potato. She was 
 a worn-looking blonde, peevish, not without traces of 
 good looks. She wore the sleeves of her bodice rolled 
 up to the elbows, and her wrists and forearms were 
 bleached by her morning's work at the wash-tub. 
 
 "Then I'm sure I don't know what else you are!" 
 said she, looking at him straight. 
 
 Mr. Simeon sighed. Ever on Mondays he returned 
 at midday to a house filled with steam and the dank 
 odour of soap-suds, and to the worst of the week's 
 meagre meals. A hundred times he had reproached 
 himself that he did ungratefully to let this affect him, 
 for his wife (poor soul) had been living in it all day, 
 whereas his morning had been spent amid books, 
 rare prints, statuettes, soft carpets, all the delicate 
 luxuries of Master Blanchminster's library. Yet he 
 could not help feeling the contrast; and the children 
 were always at their most fractious on Mondays, 
 chafed by a morning in school after two days of free- 
 dom. 
 
 "Where are you going this afternoon?" his wife 
 asked. 
 
 "To blow the organ for Windeatt." 
 131
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Dr. Windeatt (Mus. Doc. Oxon.) was the Cathedral 
 organist. 
 
 "Has he offered to pay you?" 
 
 " Well it isn't pay exactly. There was an under- 
 standing that if I blew for him this afternoon old 
 Brewer being laid up with the shingles he would 
 take me through that tenor part in the new Vcnite 
 Exultenus. It 's tricky, and yesterday morning I 
 slurred it horribly." 
 
 "Tc'ht! A man of your education blowing an or- 
 gan, and for nothing! If there was any money in it 
 one wouldn't mind so much. . . . But you let 
 yourself be put upon by anybody." 
 
 Mr. Simeon was silent. He knew that to defend 
 himself would be to court a wrangle, reproaches, tears 
 perhaps, all unseemly before the children; and, more- 
 over, what his wife said was more than half deserved. 
 
 "Daddy, why don't you write a play?" demanded 
 the five-year-old Agatha. "And then mammy would 
 have a carriage, and I 'd go to a real boarding-school 
 with canaries in the window like they have at Miss 
 Dickinson's." 
 
 The meal over, Mr. Simeon stole away to the 
 Cathedral. He was unhappy; and as he passed 
 through Friars' Gateway into the Close, the sight of 
 the minster, majestical above its green garth, for once 
 gave no lift to his spirit. The great central tower 
 132
 
 ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 rose against a sky of clearest blue, strong and four- 
 square as on the day when its Norman builders took 
 down their scaffolding. White pigeons hovered or 
 perched on niche and corbel. But fortitude and as- 
 piration alike had deserted Mr. Simeon for the while. 
 Life hard life and poverty had subdued him to 
 be one of the petty, nameless crowd this Cathedral 
 had seen creep to their end in its shadow. . . . 
 "What should such creatures as I do, crawling be- 
 tween earth and heaven?" A thousand thousand 
 such as Mr. Simeon had listened or lifted their voice 
 to its anthems had aspired for the wings of a dove, 
 to fly away and be at rest. Where now were all 
 their emotions? He entered by a side-door of the 
 western porch. The immense, solemn nave, if it did 
 not catch his thoughts aloft, at least hushed them in 
 awe. To Mr. Simeon Merchester Cathedral was a 
 passion, nearer, if not dearer, than wife or children. 
 
 He had arrived ten minutes ahead of the appointed 
 time. As he walked towards the great organ he 
 heard a child's voice, high-pitched and clear, talking 
 behind the traceries of the choir screen. He sup- 
 posed it the voice of some irreverent chorister, and 
 stepping aside to rebuke it, discovered Corona and 
 Brother Copas together gazing up at the coffins above 
 the canopy. 
 
 " And is King Alfred really up there ? the one that 
 burnt the cakes? and if so, which?" Corona was 
 asking, too eager to think of grammar. 
 133
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Brother Copas shrugged his shoulders. 
 "What 's left of him is up there somewhere. 
 
 "'Here are sands, ignoble things 
 
 Dropped from the ruined sides of kings.' 
 
 But the Parliament troopers broke open the coffins 
 and mixed the dust sadly. The Latin says so. 'In 
 this and the neighbouring chests' (or caskets, as you 
 say in America), ' confounded in a time of Civil Fury, 
 
 reposes what dust is left of ' Ah, good afternoon, 
 
 Mr. Simeon! This young lady has laid forcible hands 
 on me to give her an object-lesson in English history. 
 Do you, who know ten times more of the Cathedral 
 than I, come to my aid." 
 
 "If you are looking for King Alfred," answered 
 Mr. Simeon, beaming on Corona through his glasses, 
 " there 's a tradition that his dust lies in the second 
 chest to the right ... a tradition only. No one 
 really knows." 
 
 Corona shifted her position some six paces to the 
 right, and tilted her gaze up at the coffer as though 
 she would crick her neck. 
 
 "Aye, missy" Mr. Simeon still beamed "they 're 
 up there, the royal ones Dane and Norman and 
 Angevin ; and not one to match the great Anglo-Saxon 
 that was father of us all." 
 
 Brother Copas grunted impatiently. 
 
 "My good Simeon, you ought to be ashamed of 
 yourself! God forbid that one should decry such a 
 134
 
 ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 man as Alfred was. But the pedantry of Freeman 
 and his sect, who tried to make 'English* a con- 
 terminous name and substitute for 'Anglo-Saxon/ 
 was only by one degree less offensive than the igno- 
 rance of your modern journalist who degrades Eng- 
 lishmen by writing them down (or up, the poor fool 
 imagines) as Anglo-Saxons. In truth, King Alfred 
 was a noble fellow. No one in history has struggled 
 more pluckily to rekindle fire in an effete race or to 
 put spirit into an effete literature by pretending that 
 both were of the prime." 
 
 "Come, come," murmured Mr. Simeon, smiling. 
 " I see you are off upon one of your hobbies. . . . 
 But you will not tell me that the fine rugged epic of 
 Beowulf, to which the historians trace back all that 
 is noblest in our poetry, had lost its generative impulse 
 even so early as Alfred's time. That were too ex- 
 travagant!" 
 
 " Brekekekex, ten brink, ten brink ! " snapped Brother 
 Copas. " All the frogs in chorus around Charon's boat! 
 Fine rugged fiddlestick have you ever read Beowulf? " 
 
 " In translation only." 
 
 "You need not be ashamed of labour saved. I 
 once spent a month or two in mastering Anglo-Saxon, 
 having a suspicion of Germans when they talk about 
 English literature, and a deeper suspicion of English 
 critics who ape them. Then I tackled Beoumlf, and 
 found it to be what I guessed no rugged national 
 epic at all, but a blown-out bag of bookishness. Im- 
 135
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 pulse? Generative impulse? the thing is wind, I 
 tell you, without sap or sinew, the production of some 
 conscientious Anglo-Saxon whose blue eyes, no doubt, 
 watered with the effort of inflating it. I '11 swear it 
 never drew a human tear otherwise. . . . That 's 
 what the whole Anglo-Saxon race had become when 
 Alfred arose to galvanise 'em for a while a herd of 
 tall, flabby, pale-eyed men, who could neither fight, 
 build, sing, nor enforce laws. And so our England 
 wise as Austria in mating turned to other nuptials 
 and married William the Norman. Behold then a 
 new breed; the country covered with sturdy, bullet- 
 headed, energetic fellows who are no sooner born 
 than they fly to work hammers going, scaffolds 
 climbing, cities, cathedrals springing up by magic, 
 and all to a new song that came with some imported 
 workmen from the Provence 
 
 "'Quan la douss' aura venta 
 Deves vostre pays ' 
 
 and so pop! down the wind goes your pricked 
 bladder of a Beowulf: down the wind that blows from 
 the Mediterranean, whence the arts and the best re- 
 ligions come." 
 
 Mr. Simeon rubbed the side of his jaw thoughtfully. 
 
 "Ah," said he, "I remember Master Blanchmin- 
 ster saying something of the sort the other day. He 
 was talking of wine." 
 
 "Yes the best religions and the best wine: they 
 136
 
 ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 go together. Could ever an Anglo-Saxon have built 
 that, think you?" demanded Brother Copas with a 
 backward jerk of the head and glance up at the 
 vaulted roof. " But to my moral. All this talk of 
 Anglo-Saxons, Celts, and the rest is rubbish. We 
 are English by chemical action of a score of inter- 
 fused bloods. That man is a fool who speaks as 
 though, at this point of time, they could be separated: 
 had he the power to put his nonsense into practice he 
 would be a wicked fool. And so I say, Mr. Simeon, 
 that the Roundheads no pure Anglo-Saxon, by the 
 way, ever had a round head who mixed up the 
 dead dust in the caskets aloft there, were really leav- 
 ing us a sound historical lesson " 
 
 But here Mr. Simeon turned at the sound of a brisk 
 footstep. Dr. Windeatt had just entered by the 
 western door. 
 
 " You '11 excuse me ? I promised the Doctor to blow 
 the organ for him." 
 
 "Do people blow upon organs?" asked Corona, 
 suddenly interested. "I thought they played upon 
 them the same as pianos, only with little things that 
 pulled out at the sides." 
 
 " Come and see," Mr. Simeon invited her, smiling. 
 
 The three went around to the back of the organ 
 loft. By and by when Mr. Simeon began to pump, 
 and after a minute, a quiet adagio, rising upon a 
 throb of air, stole along the aisles as though an angel 
 spoke in it, or the very spirit of the building, tears 
 137
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 sprang into the child's eyes and overflowed. She 
 supposed that Mr. Simeon alone was working this 
 miracle. . . . Blinking more tears away, she stared 
 at him, meeting his mild, half-quizzical gaze as he 
 stooped and rose and stooped again over the bellows. 
 
 Brother Copas, touching her elbow, signed to her 
 to come away. She obeyed, very reluctantly. By a 
 small doorway in the southern aisle she followed him 
 out into the sunshine of the Cathedral Close. 
 
 "But how does he do it?" she demanded. "He 
 doesn't look a bit as if he could do anything like that 
 not in repose." 
 
 Brother Copas eyed her and took snuff. 
 
 " He and the like of him don't touch the stops, my 
 dear. He and the like of him do better; they supply 
 the afflatus." 
 
 ye holy and humble Men of heart, bless ye the 
 Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever ! 
 
 Mr. Simeon worked mechanically, heaving and 
 pressing upon the bellows of the great organ. His 
 mind ran upon Master Copas's disparagement of 
 Beowulf and the Anglo-Saxons. It was ever the 
 trouble that he remembered an answer for Brother 
 Copas after Brother Copas had gone. . . . Why 
 had he not bethought him to cite Csedmon, at any 
 rate, against that sweeping disparagement? How 
 went the story ? 
 
 138
 
 ON THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 Coedmon was a lay brother, a tender of cattle at the 
 Abbey of Whitby under the Abbess Hilda who founded 
 it. Until somewhat spent in years he had never learnt 
 any poems. Therefore at a feast, when all sang in 
 turn, so soon as he saw the harp coming near him, he 
 would rise and leave the table and go home. Once 
 when he had gone thus from the feast to the stables, 
 where he had night-charge of the beasts, as he yielded 
 himself to sleep One stood over him and said, greeting 
 him by name, " Coedmon, sing some song to me." " I 
 cannot sing," he said, "and for this cause left I the 
 feast." "But you shall sing to me," said the Vision. 
 "Lord, what shall I sing?" "Sing the Creation," 
 said the Vision. Casdmon sang, and in the morning 
 remembered what he had sung . . . 
 
 "If this indeed happened to Csedmon, and late in 
 life" (mused Mr. Simeon, heaving on the bellows of 
 the great organ), " might not even some such miracle 
 befall me?" 
 
 Lord, I have loved the habitation of Thy house, and 
 the place where Thine honour dwelleth. 
 
 " I might even write a play," thought Mr. Simeon. 
 
 139
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 " UNCLE COPAS," said Corona, as the two passed out 
 through the small doorway in the southern aisle and 
 stood blinking in the sunshine, "I want you next to 
 show me what 's left of the old Castle where the kings 
 lived: that is, if you 're not tired." 
 
 "Tired, child? 'Tis our business 'tis the Breth- 
 ren's business to act as guides around the relics of 
 Merchester. By fetching a very small circuit we can 
 take the Castle on our way, and afterwards walk home 
 along the water-meads, my favourite path." 
 
 Corona slipped her hand into his confidentially. 
 Together they left the Close, and passing under the 
 King's Gate, turned down College Street, which led 
 them by the brewhouse and outer porch of the great 
 School. A little beyond it, where by a conduit one 
 of the Mere's hurrying tributaries gushed beneath the 
 road, they came to a regiment of noble elms guarding 
 a gateway, into which Brother Copas turned aside. 
 A second and quite unpretentious gateway admitted 
 them to a green meadow, in shape a rough semicircle, 
 enclosed by ruinated walls. 
 
 "You may come here most days of the month," 
 140
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 said Brother Copas, holding the gate wide, "and 
 never meet a soul. 'Tis the tranquillest, most for- 
 saken spot in the city's ambit." 
 
 But here, as Corona caught her breath, he turned 
 and stared. The enclosure was occupied by a squad 
 of soldiers at drill. 
 
 They wore uniforms of khaki, and, dressed up with 
 their backs to the gateway, were performing the sim- 
 ple movements of foot drill in face of a choleric ser- 
 geant-major, who shouted the words of command, 
 and of a mounted officer who fronted the squad, 
 silent, erect in saddle, upon a strapping bay. Some 
 few paces behind this extremely military pair stood 
 a couple of civilian spectators side by side, in attire 
 frock-coats, top-hats, white waistcoats which at a 
 little distance gave them an absurd resemblance to a 
 brace of penguins. 
 
 "Heavens!" murmured Brother Copas. "Is it 
 possible that Bamberger has become twins? One 
 never knows of what these Jews are capable. . . ." 
 
 His gaze travelled from the two penguins to the 
 horseman in khaki. He put up a shaking hand to 
 shade it. 
 
 "Colt? Colt in regimentals? Oh, this must be 
 vertigo!" 
 
 At a word from the sergeant-major the squad fell 
 out and stood in loose order, plainly awaiting instruc- 
 141
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 tions. Mr. Colt yes, indeed it was the Chaplain 
 turned his charger's head half-about as the two 
 frock-coated civilians stepped forward. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Bamberger, my men are at your dis- 
 posal." 
 
 " I t'ank you, Reverent Mr. Major if zat is ze form 
 to address you " began Mr. Bamberger's double. 
 
 " 'Major,' tout court, if you please," Mr. Colt cor- 
 rected him. "One drops the 'reverend' while actu- 
 ally on military duty." 
 
 "So? Ach, pardon! I should haf known. . . 
 Now ze first is, we get ze angle of view, where to place 
 our Grandt Standt so ze backgrount mek ze most 
 pleasing pigture. At ze same time ze Standt must 
 not tresbass must not imbinge, hein? upon our 
 stage, our what-you-call-it area. Two t'ousand ber- 
 formers we haf not too mooch room. I will ask 
 you, Mr. Major, first of all to let your men zey haf 
 tent-pegs, hein ? to let your men peg out ze area as 
 I direct. Afterwards, with your leaf, you shall place 
 z'em here z'ere in groups, zat I may see in some 
 sort how ze groups combose, as we say. Himmel! 
 what a backgroundt! Ze Cathedral, how it lifts over 
 ze trees Bar-feet! Now, if you will follow me a 
 few paces to ze right, here . . . Ach! see yonder, 
 by ze gate! Zat old man in ze red purple poncho 
 haf ze berformers already begon to aszemble zem- 
 selves? . . ." 
 
 142
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 Mr. Colt slewed his body about in the saddle. 
 
 " Eh ? . . . Oh, that 's Brother Copas, one of our 
 Beauchamp Brethren. Mediaeval he looks, doesn't 
 he? I assure you, sir, we keep the genuine article 
 in Merchester." 
 
 "You haf old men dressed like zatf . . . My 
 dear Julius, I see zis Bageant retty-made!" 
 
 "It was at St. Hospital the almshouse for these 
 old fellows that the notion first came into my 
 head." 
 
 "Sblendid! . . . We will haf a Brocession of 
 them; or, it may be, a whole Ebisode. . . . Will 
 you bid him come closer, Mr. Major, zat I may 
 study ze costume in its detail?" 
 
 " Certainly." Mr. Colt beckoned to Brother Copas, 
 who came forward still holding Corona by the hand. 
 "Brother Copas, Mr. Isidore Bamberger here 
 brother of Our Member desires to make your ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 "I am honoured," said Brother Copas po- 
 litely. 
 
 "Ach, sol" burst in Mr. Isidore. "I was telling 
 the Major how moch I admire zat old costume of 
 yours." 
 
 "It is not for sale, however." Brother Copas 
 faced the two Hebrews with his ironical smile. "I 
 am sorry to disappoint you, sirs, but I have no old 
 clothes to dispose of, at present." 
 143
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "No offence, no offence, I hope?" put in Mr. 
 Julius. "My brother, sir, is an artist 
 
 "Be easy, sir: I am sure that he intended none. 
 For the rest," pursued Brother Copas with a glance 
 at Mr. Colt and a twinkle, "if we had time, all four 
 of us here, to tell how by choice or necessity we come 
 to be dressed as we are, I dare say our stories might 
 prove amusing as the Calenders' in The Arabian 
 Nights." 
 
 "You remind me," said Mr. Isidore, "zat I at any 
 rate must not keep zese good Territorials standting 
 idle. Another time at your service 
 
 He waved a hand and hurried off to give an 
 instruction to the sergeant-major. His brother fol- 
 lowed and overtook him. 
 
 "Damn it all, Isidore! You might remember that 
 Merchester is my constituency, and my majority less 
 than half a hundred." 
 
 "Hein? For what else am I here but to helb you 
 to increase it?'* 
 
 "Then why the devil start by offending that old 
 chap as you did?" 
 
 "Eh? I offended him somehow. Zat is certain: 
 zough why on earth he should object to having his 
 dress admired Mr. Isidore checked his speech 
 
 upon a sudden surmise. "My goot Julius, you are 
 not telling me he has a Vote!" 
 
 "You silly fool, of course he hasl" 
 144
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 "Gott in himmel! I am sorry, Julius. ... I 
 sobbosed, in England, that paupers 
 
 "State-paupers," * corrected his brother. "Private 
 paupers, like the Brethren of St. Hospital, rank as 
 tenants of their living-rooms." 
 
 "I shall never gombrehend the instidutions of zis 
 country," groaned Mr. Isidore. 
 
 "Never mind: make a Pageant of 'em," said his 
 brother grimly. " I '11 forgive you this time, if you '11 
 promise me to be more careful." 
 
 " I '11 do more, Julius. I '11 get aroundt ze old boy 
 somehow: mek him bivot-man in a brocession, or 
 something of the sort. I got any amount of tagt, 
 once I know where to use it." 
 
 " Smart man, Our Member ! " commented Mr. 
 Colt, gazing after the pair. "And Mr. Isidore doesn't 
 let the grass grow under his feet, hey?" 
 
 "Has an eye for detail, too," answered Brother 
 Copas, taking snuff. " See him there, upbraiding his 
 brother for want of tact towards a free and indepen- 
 dent elector. . . . But excuse me for what purpose 
 are these two parcelling out the Castle Meadow?" 
 
 "You 've not heard? There 's a suggestion and 
 I may claim some share in the credit of it, if credit 
 there be to hold a Pageant here next summer, a 
 
 * " Blessed are the poor, but there 's no reason why they should 
 have it both ways. Since theirs is the kingdom of heaven the 
 real Second Chamber we see fair by disfranchising them on 
 earth." Sayings of Brother Copas. 
 
 145
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Merchester Pageant. Mr. Bamberger 's full of it. 
 What 's your idea?" 
 
 "A capital notion," said Brother Copas slowly. 
 " Since jam pridem Syrus in Tamesin dcfluxit Orontcs, 
 I commend any attempt to educate Mr. Bamberger 
 and his tribe in the history of this England they in- 
 vade. But, as you say, this proposed Pageant is 
 news to me. I never seem to hear any gossip. It 
 had not even reached me, Mr. Chaplain, that you 
 were deserting St. Hospital to embrace a military 
 career." 
 
 "Nor am I. ... At Cambridge I ever was an 
 ardent volunteer. Here in Merchester (though this, 
 too, may be news to you) I have for years identified 
 myself with all movements in support of national 
 defence. The Church Lads' Brigade, I may say, 
 owed its inception to me; likewise the Young Com- 
 municants' Miniature Rifle Association; and for 
 three successive years our Merchester Boy Scouts 
 have elected me President and Scoutmaster. It has 
 been a dream of my life, Brother Copas, to link up 
 the youth of Britain in preparation to defend the 
 Motherland, pending that system of compulsory na- 
 tional service which (we all know) must eventually 
 come. And so when Sir John Shaftesbury, as Chair- 
 man of our County Territorial Force Association, 
 spoke to the Lord-Lieutenant, who invited me to 
 accept a majority in the Mershire Light Infantry, 
 Second Battalion, Territorial 
 146
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 "I can well understand, sir," said Brother Copas, 
 as Mr. Colt drew breath; "and I thank you for tell- 
 ing me so much. No wonder Sir John enlisted such 
 energy as yours! Yet to be equally frank with you 
 I am sorry." 
 
 "You disapprove of National Service?" 
 
 "I approve of it with all my heart. Every young 
 man should prepare himself to fight, at call, for his 
 country. But the devotion should be voluntary." 
 
 "Ah, but suppose our young men will not? Sup- 
 pose they prefer to attend football matches " 
 
 " That, sir if I may respectfully suggest it is your 
 business to prevent. And I might go on to suggest 
 that the clergy, by preaching compulsory military 
 service, lay themselves open, as avowed supporters 
 of 'law and order/ to a very natural suspicion. We 
 will suppose that you get your way, and every young 
 Briton is bound, on summons, to mobilise. We will 
 further suppose a Conservative Government in power, 
 and confronted with a devastating strike shall we say 
 a railwaymen's strike ? What more easy than to call 
 out one half of the strikers on service and oblige them, 
 under pain of treason, to coerce the other half?* 
 Do you suppose that this nation will ever forget Houn- 
 slow Heath?" 
 
 "Let us, then," said Mr. Colt, "leave arguing this 
 
 * In justice to Brother Copas it should be recorded that he 
 made this suggestion some time before M. Briand put it into 
 practice to suppress the French railway strike of 1910. 
 
 147
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 question of compulsory national service until another 
 occasion, when I shall hope to convince you. For 
 the moment you '11 allow it to be every man's duty, 
 as a citizen, to carry arms for his country?" 
 
 "Every man's, certainly if by that you exclude 
 priests." 
 
 "Why exclude priests?" 
 
 "Because a priest, playing at warfare, must needs 
 be mixing up things that differ. As I see it, Mr. Colt, 
 your Gospel forbids warfare; and if you consent to 
 follow an army, your business is to hold a cross above 
 human strife and point the eyes of the dying upward, 
 to rest on it, thus rebuking men's passions with a 
 vision of life's ultimate peace." 
 
 " Yet a Bishop of Beauvais (as I read) once thought 
 it not unmeet to charge with a mace at the head of a 
 troop; and our own dear Archbishop Maclagan of 
 York, as everyone knows, was once lieutenant in a 
 cavalry regiment!" 
 
 "Oh, la, la!" chuckled Brother Copas. "Be off, 
 then, to your Territorials, Mr. Chaplain! I see Mr. 
 Isidore, yonder, losing his temper with the squad as 
 only an artist can. . . . But believe an old man, 
 dear sir you on your horse are not only misreading 
 the Sermon but mistaking the Mount!" 
 
 Mr. Colt rode off to his squad, and none too soon; 
 for the men, startled by Mr. Isidore's sudden on- 
 slaught of authority and the explosive language in 
 148
 
 MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE 
 
 which he ordered them hither and thither, cursing 
 one for his slowness with the measuring-tape, taking 
 another by the shoulders and pushing him into posi- 
 tion, began to show signs of mutiny. Mr. Julius 
 Bamberger mopped a perspiring brow as he ran about 
 vainly trying to interpose. 
 
 "Isidore, this is damned nonsense, I tell you!" 
 "You leave 'em to me," panted Mr. Isidore. 
 "Tell me I don't understand managing a crowd like 
 this! It's part of ze method, my goot Julius. Put 
 ze fear of ze Lord into 'em, to start wiz. Zey grom- 
 ble at first; zen zey findt zey like it: in the endt zey 
 lof you. Hein? It is not for nozzing zey call me ze 
 Bageant King! . . ." 
 
 The old man and the child, left to themselves, 
 watched these operations for a while across the green- 
 sward, over which the elms now began to lengthen 
 their afternoon shadows. 
 
 "The Chaplain was right," said Brother Copas. 
 "Mr. Isidore certainly does not let the grass grow 
 under his feet." 
 
 "If I were the grass, I shouldn't want to," said 
 Corona. 
 
 149
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 "THE nasty pigs!" 
 
 Nurse Branscome's face, usually composed and 
 business-like (as a nurse's should be), was aflush 
 between honest shame and equally honest scorn. 
 
 "To be sure," said Brother Copas soothingly. 
 He had met her by chance in the ambulatory on her 
 way from Brother Bonaday's rooms. On a sudden 
 resolve he had told her of the anonymous letter, not 
 showing it, but conveying (delicately as he might) its 
 substance. "To be sure," he repeated. "But I am 
 thinking " 
 
 "As if I don't know your thoughts!" she inter- 
 rupted vigorously. "You are thinking that, to save 
 scandal, I had better cease my attendance on Brother 
 Bonaday, and hand over the case to Nurse Turner. 
 That I could do, of course; and if he knows of it, 
 I certainly shall. Have you told him?" 
 
 Brother Copas shook his head. 
 
 "No. What is more, I have not the smallest in- 
 tention of telling him." 
 
 150
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 "Thank you. . . . Oh, but it is vile vile!" 
 
 "So vile that, believe me, I had great difficulty in 
 telling you." 
 
 "I am sure you had. ... I can hand over the 
 case to Nurse Turner, of course; in fact, it came on 
 her rota, but she asked me as a favour to take it, 
 having her hands full just then with Brother Royle 
 and Brother Dasent's rheumatics. It will be hard, 
 though, to give up the child." Nurse Branscome 
 flushed again. " Oh, yes you are a gentleman, 
 Brother Copas, and will not misunderstand! I have 
 taken a great liking for the child, and she will ask 
 questions if I suddenly desert her. You see the fix? 
 . . . Besides, Nurse Turner I hope I am not be- 
 coming like one of these people, but I must say it 
 Nurse Turner has not a nice mind." 
 
 "There we get at it," said Brother Copas. "As a 
 fact, you were far from reading my thoughts just 
 now. They did not (forgive me) concern themselves 
 with you or your wisest line of conduct. You are a 
 grown woman, and know well enough that honesty 
 will take care of its own in the end. I was thinking 
 rather of Corona. As you say, she has laid some hold 
 upon the pair of us. She has a pathetic belief in all 
 the inmates of St. Hospital and God pity us if our 
 corruption infects this child! . . . You take me?" 
 
 Nurse Branscome looked at him squarely. 
 
 "If I could save her from that!" 
 151
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "You would risk appearances?" 
 
 "Gladly. . . . Will you show me the letter?" 
 
 Brother Copas shook his head. 
 
 "You must take it on faith from me for a while 
 ... at any rate until I find out who in St. Hospital 
 begins her 'wV with a curl like a ram's horn. Did 
 you leave the child with her father?" 
 
 "No; she had run out to the kitchen garden. 
 Since she has discovered it she goes there regularly 
 twice a day, morning and evening. I can't think 
 why, and she won't tell. She is the queerest child." 
 
 The walled kitchen garden of St. Hospital lies to 
 the south, between the back of the "Nunnery" and 
 the River Mere. It can be reached from the ambula- 
 tory by a dark, narrow tunnel under the nurses' 
 lodgings. The Brethren never went near it. For 
 years old Battershall, the gardener, had dug there in 
 solitude day in, day out and had grown his veg- 
 etables, hedged in from all human intercourse, nor 
 grumbling at his lot. 
 
 Corona, exploring the precincts, had discovered this 
 kitchen garden, found it to her mind, and thereafter 
 made free of it with the cheerfullest insouciance. 
 The dark tunnel, to begin with, put her in mind of 
 some adventure in a fairy tale she could not recall; 
 but it opened of a sudden and enchantingly upon 
 sunshine and beds of onions, parsley, cabbages, with 
 152
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 pale yellow butterflies hovering. Old Battershall, too, 
 though taciturn, was obviously not displeased by her 
 visits. He saw that while prying here and there 
 especially among the parsley beds, for what reason 
 he could not guess the child stole no fruit, did no 
 harm. She trampled nothing. She lifted no leaf to 
 harm it. When she stopped to speak with him her 
 talk was "just nonsense, you know." Unconsciously, 
 by the end of the third day he had looked up twice 
 or thrice from his delving, asking himself why she 
 was late. 
 
 And what (do you suppose) did Corona seek in the 
 kitchen garden? She too, unknowing, was lonely. 
 Unknowing, this child felt a need for children, com- 
 panions. Uncle Copas's doll well meant and priced 
 at Is. 3d. had somehow missed to engage her affec- 
 tions. She could not tell him so, but she hated it. 
 
 Like every woman-child of her age she was curious 
 about babies. She had heard, over in America, that 
 babies came either at early morning or at shut of eve, 
 and were to be found in parsley beds. Now old Mr. 
 Battershall grew parsley to make you proud. At 
 the Merchester Rural Gardening Show he regularly 
 took first prize; his potting-shed, in the north-east 
 angle of the wall, was papered with winning tickets 
 from bench to roof. At first when he saw Corona 
 moving about the bed, lifting the parsley leaves, he 
 had a mind to chide her away; for, as he put it, 
 153
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " Children and chicken be always a-pickin' the mis- 
 chief 's in their natur'." Finding, however, that she 
 did no damage, yet harked back to the parsley again 
 and again, he set her down for an unusually intelligent 
 child, who somehow knew good gardening when she 
 saw it. 
 
 "Glad to see you admirin' it, missie," he said one 
 morning, coming up behind her unperceived. 
 
 Corona, in the act of upturning a leaf, started and 
 drew back her hand. Babies she could not tell 
 why made their appearance in this world by stealth, 
 and must be searched for furtively. 
 
 "A mort o' prizes I 've took with that there parsley 
 one time and another," pursued Mr. Battershall, not 
 perceiving the flush of guilt on her face (for his eye- 
 sight was, in his own words, not so young as it used 
 to be). " Goodbody's Curly Mammoth is the strain, 
 and I don't care who knows it, for the secret 's not in 
 the strain, but in the way o' raisin' it. I grows for a 
 succession, too. Summer or winter these six-an'- 
 twenty years St. Hospital 's ne'er been without a fine 
 bed o' parsley, I thank the Lord!" 
 
 Six-and-twenty years. ... It was comforting in a 
 way to know that parsley grew here all the seasons 
 round. But six-and-twenty years, and not one 
 child in the place save herself, who had come over 
 from America! Yet Mr. Battershall was right ; it 
 seemed excellent parsley. 
 
 154
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 "You don't find that anything comes and and 
 
 takes away " she hazarded, but came to a full 
 
 stop. 
 
 " There 's slugs," answered Mr. Battershall stolidly, 
 " and there 's snails. Terrible full o' snails the old 
 wall was till I got the Master to repoint it." 
 
 "Would snails " 
 
 " Eh ? " he asked as she hesitated. 
 
 "They might take away the the flowers, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 Old Battershall guffawed. 
 
 " You wasn' sarchin' for flowers, was you ? Dang 
 me, but that 's a good un! . . . I don't raise my own 
 seed, missie, if that's your meanin'; an' that bein* 
 so, he 'd have to get up early as would find a flower in 
 my parsley." 
 
 Ah, this might explain it! As she eyed him, her 
 childish mind searching the mystery, yet keeping its 
 own secret, Corona resolved to steal down to the 
 garden one of these fine mornings very early indeed. 
 
 " Now I '11 tell you something about parsley," said 
 Mr. Battershall; "something very curious, and yet 
 it must be true, for I heard the Master tell it in one 
 of his sermons. The ancients, by which I mean the 
 Greeks, set amazin' store by the yerb. There was a 
 kind of Athletic Sports sort of Crystal Palace meetin' 
 the great event, as you might say, and attractin' to 
 
 sportsmen all over Greece " 
 
 155
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Mover what?" 
 
 "Greece. Which is a country, missy, or, at any 
 rate, was so. The meeting was held every four 
 years; and what d'ye suppose was the top prize, an- 
 swerin', as you may say, to the Championship Cup? 
 Why, a wreath o' parsley! 'Garn!' says you. And 
 'Parsley!' says you. Which a whole wreath of it 
 might cost fivepence at the outside. . . ." 
 
 Now Corona, whose mind was ever picking up and 
 hoarding such trifles, had heard Uncle Copas two 
 days before drop a remark that the Greeks knew 
 everything worth knowing. Plainly, then, the parsley 
 held some wonderful secret after all. She must con- 
 trive to outwit old Battershall, and get to the garden 
 ahead of him, which would not be easy, by the way. 
 
 To begin with, on these summer mornings old 
 Battershall rose with the lark, and boasted of it; and, 
 furthermore, the door of her father's bedroom stood 
 open all night. To steal abroad she must pass it, 
 and he was the lightest of sleepers. She did not in- 
 tend to be beaten, though; and meanwhile she 
 punctually visited the parsley morning and evening. 
 
 Heaven knows how the day-dream came to take 
 possession of her. She was not consciously lonely. 
 She worshipped this marvellous new home. Some- 
 times in her rambles she had to pinch herself to make 
 sure this was all really happening. But always in 
 her rambles she saw St. Hospital peopled with chil- 
 15G
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 dren boys, girls, and little toddlers chasing one 
 another across the lawns, laughing at hide-and-seek 
 in the archways, bruising no flower-bed, filling old 
 souls with glee. They were her playmates, these 
 innocents of her fancy, the long day through. At 
 evening in her prayers she called them home, and 
 they came reluctant 
 
 "No, no, let us play, for it is yet day 
 
 And we cannot go to sleep; 
 Besides, in the sky the little birds fly 
 And the hills are all covered with sheep." 
 
 The tunnel was populous with them as she passed 
 through it from the garden to the ambulatory, and 
 at the end of the tunnel she came plump upon Branny 
 and Uncle Copas in converse. They started guiltily. 
 
 " I 've been looking for you this half-hour," said 
 Brother Copas, recovering himself. "Didn't a cer- 
 tain small missy make an appointment with me to 
 be shown the laundry and its wonders? And isn't 
 this Tuesday ironing day?" 
 
 "You promised to show it to me some time," an- 
 swered Corona, who was punctilious in small matters; 
 " but you never fixed any time in p'tic'lar." 
 
 " Oh, then I must have made the appointment with 
 myself! Never mind; come along now, if you can 
 spare the time." 
 
 157
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Nurse Branscome nodded and left them, turning 
 in at the stairway which led to her quarters in the 
 Nunnery. At the foot of it she paused to call after 
 them 
 
 "Mind, Corona is not to be late for her tea! I 've 
 invited myself this evening, and there is to be a plum 
 cake in honour of the occasion." 
 
 Brother Copas and Corona passed down the ambu- 
 latory and by the porter's lodge to the outer court. 
 Of a sudden, within a few paces of the laundry, 
 Brother Copas halted to listen. 
 
 " You had better stop here for a moment," he said, 
 and walked forward to the laundry door, the hasp of 
 which he lifted after knocking sharply with his staff. 
 He threw the door open and looked in, surveying the 
 scene with an angry disgust. 
 
 "Hallo! More abominations ?" exclaimed Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 The quarrel had started in the forenoon over a 
 dirty trick played by Brother Clerihew, the ex-butler. 
 (Brother Clerihew had a name for underhand practice; 
 indeed, his inability to miss a chance of it had cost 
 him situation after situation, and finally landed him 
 in St. Hospital.) This time he had played it upon 
 poor old doddering Brother Ibbetson. Finding Ib- 
 betson in the porter's gateway, with charge of a lu- 
 crative-looking tourist and in search of the key of the 
 158
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 Relique Room, he noted that the key, usually handed 
 out by Porter Manby, hung on a hook just within the 
 doorway; but old Ibbetson, being purblind, could 
 not see it, or at all events could not recognise it, and 
 Manby happened to be away at the brewhouse on 
 some errand connected with the Wayfarers' Dole. 
 Brother Clerihew, who had left him there, sent Ibbet- 
 son off on a chase in the wrong direction, loitered 
 around for a couple of minutes chatting about the 
 weather, and then, with a remark that it was shame- 
 ful to keep gentlefolks waiting so, looked casually in 
 at the doorway. 
 
 "Why the key is here all the time!" he exclaimed. 
 " If you are in any hurry, sir, permit me to take 
 Brother Ibbetson's place, and show you round. Oh," 
 he added falsely, seeing the visitor hesitate, "it won't 
 hurt him at all! I don't like to mention it, but any 
 small gratuities bestowed on the Brethren are carried 
 to a common fund." 
 
 Ibbetson, harking back from a vain search to find 
 his bird had flown, encountered Porter Manby re- 
 turning with Brother Warboise from the brewhouse, 
 and tremulously opened up his distress. 
 
 " Eh ? " snapped Warboise, after exchanging glances 
 with the Porter. " Clerihew said Manby was in the 
 kitchen, did he? But he 'd left us at the brewhouse 
 not a minute before." 
 
 "And the key! gone from the hook!" chimed in 
 159
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Porter Manby, " where I '11 swear I left it. This is 
 one of Clerihew's monkeyings, you bet." 
 
 "I'll monkey him," growled Brother Warboise. 
 
 The three kept sentry, knowing that Clerihew must 
 sooner or later return with his convoy, there being 
 no other exit. When at length he hove in sight with 
 his convoy his face wore an uneasy, impudent smile. 
 He was the richer by half-a-crown. They stood 
 aside and let him brazen it past them; but Manby 
 and Ibbetson were still waiting for him as he came 
 back alone. Ibbetson was content with a look of re- 
 proach. Manby told him fair and straight that he 
 was a swindling cur. But meanwhile Warboise had 
 stumped off and told Ibbetson's wife. This done, 
 he hurried off, and catching Clerihew by the steps of 
 the Hundred Men's Hall, threatened the rogue with 
 his staff. Manby caught them in altercation, the one 
 aiming impotent blows, the other evading them still 
 with his shameless grin, and separated them. Brother 
 Ibbetson looked on, feebly wringing his hands. 
 
 But Mrs. Ibbetson was worth three of her husband, 
 and a notorious scold. In the laundry, later on, she 
 announced within earshot of Mrs. Clerihew that, as 
 was well beknown, Clerihew had lost his last three 
 places for bottle-stealing; and Mrs. Royle, acknowl- 
 edged virago of St. Hospital, took up the accusation 
 and blared it obscenely. For a good five minutes 
 the pair mauled Mrs. Clerihew, who, with an air of 
 ICO
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 high gentility, went on ironing shirts. She had been 
 a lady's maid when Clerihew married her, and could 
 command, as a rule, a high-bred, withering sneer. 
 Unhappily, the united attack of Mrs. Ibbetson and 
 Mrs. Royle goaded her so far beyond the bounds of 
 breeding that of a sudden she upped and called the 
 latter a bitch; whereupon, feeling herself committed, 
 this ordinarily demure woman straightened her spine 
 and followed up the word with a torrent of filthy in- 
 vective that took the whole laundry aback. 
 
 Her success was but momentary. Mrs. Royle had 
 a character to maintain. Fetching a gasp, she let 
 fly the dirtiest word one woman can launch at another, 
 and on the instant made a grab at Mrs. Clerihew's 
 brow. ... It was a matter of notoriety in St. Hospi- 
 tal that Mrs. Clerihew wore a false "front." The 
 thing came away in Mrs. Royle's clutch, and amid 
 shrieks of laughter Mrs. Royle tossed it to Mrs. 
 Ibbetson, who promptly clapped down a hot flat-iron 
 upon it. The spectators rocked with helpless mirth 
 as the poor woman strove to cover her bald brows, 
 while the thing hissed and shrivelled to nothing, emit- 
 ting an acrid odour beneath the relentless flat-iron. 
 
 "Ladies! ladies!" commanded Brother Copas. 
 "A visitor, if you please!" 
 
 The word as always in St. Hospital instantly 
 commanded a hush. The women fled back to their 
 tables, and started ironing, goffering, crimping for 
 161
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 dear life, with irons hot and cold. Brother Copas, 
 with a chuckle, leant back and beckoned Corona in 
 from the yard. 
 
 At sight of her on the threshold Mrs. Royle broke 
 into a coarse laugh. It found no echo, and died away 
 half-heartedly. For one thing, there might yet be a 
 real visitor behind the child; for another, these women 
 stood in some little awe of Brother Copas, who paid 
 well for his laundry-work, never mixed himself up 
 with gossip, and moreover had a formidable trick of 
 lifting his hat whenever he passed one of these vira- 
 goes, and after a glance at her face, fixing an amused 
 stare at her feet.* 
 
 "Pardon me, ladies," said he; "but my small 
 laundry-work has hitherto gone, as you know, to 
 old Mrs. Vigurs in St. Faith's Road. Last week she 
 sent me word that she could not longer undertake it, 
 the fact being that she has just earned her Old Age 
 Pension and is retiring upon it. I come to ask if one 
 of you will condescend to take her place and oblige 
 me." 
 
 He paused, tasting the fun of it. As he well knew, 
 they all feared and hated him for his trick of irony; 
 but at least half a dozen of them desired his custom, 
 for in St. Hospital (where nothing escaped notice) 
 
 * " On meeting an objectionable woman, stare at her feet and 
 smile. This never misses to disconcert her." Axioms of Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 162
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 Brother Copas's fastidious extravagance in body- 
 linen and his punctuality in discharging small debts 
 were matters of common knowledge. Moreover, in 
 their present mood each of these women saw a chance 
 of spiting another by depriving her of the job. 
 
 Brother Copas eyed them with an amiable smile. 
 
 "Come," he said, "don't all speak at once! . . . 
 I '11 not ask you to bid for my little contract just now 
 when I see you are* all so busy. But seriously, I invite 
 tenders, and will ask any one of you who cares for my 
 custom to send me (say by to-morrow evening) a list 
 of her prices in a sealed envelope, each envelope to 
 bear the words ' Washing List' in an upper corner, 
 that I may put all the tenders aside and open them 
 together. Eh? What do you say, ladies?" 
 
 "I shall be happy for one," said Mrs. Clerihew, 
 laying stress on the aspirate. She always was careful 
 of this, having lived with gentlefolks. She burned 
 to know if Brother Copas had heard her call Mrs. 
 Royle a bitch. Mrs. Royle (to do her justice) when 
 enraged recked neither what she said nor who over- 
 heard. But Mrs. Clerihew, between her lapses, clung 
 passionately to gentility and the world's esteem. She 
 was conscious, moreover, that without her false 
 "front" she must be looking a fright. ... In short,- 
 the wretched woman rushed into speech because for 
 the moment anything was more tolerable than silence. 
 
 "I thank yo - ma'am." 
 
 163
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Neither voice nor look betrayed that Brother Copas 
 had overheard or perceived anything amiss. 
 
 Mrs. Clerihew, baffled, began desperately to curry 
 favour. 
 
 " And you 've brought Brother Bonaday's pretty 
 child, I see. . . . Step over here, my dear, and watch 
 me when I 've heated this iron. ' Crimping,' they 
 call it, and I 've done it for titled folks in my time. 
 One of these days, I -hope, you '11 be going into good 
 service yourself. There 's nothing like it for picking 
 up manners." 
 
 She talked for talking's sake, in a carneying tone, 
 while her bosom still heaved from the storm of battle. 
 
 Mrs. Royle attempted a ribald laugh, but it met 
 with no success, and her voice died down under a dis- 
 approving hush. 
 
 Mrs. Clerihew talked on, gaining confidence. She 
 crimped beautifully, and this was the more remark- 
 able because (as Corona noted) her hand shook all the 
 while. 
 
 In short, the child had, as she put it, quite a good 
 time. 
 
 When it was time to be going she thanked Mrs. 
 Clerihew very prettily, and walked back with Brother 
 Copas to her father's room. They found Nurse 
 Branscome there and the table already laid for tea; 
 there was a plum cake, too. 
 
 After tea Branny told them all very gravely that 
 164
 
 GARDEN AND LAUNDRY 
 
 this must be her last visit. She was giving over the 
 care of Corona's father to Nurse Turner, whose 
 "case" it had really been from the first. She ex- 
 plained that the nurses, unless work were extra heavy, 
 had to take their patients in a certain order, by what 
 she called a rota. 
 
 " But he 's bettering every day now, so I don't 
 mind." She nodded cheerfully towards Brother Bon- 
 aday, and then, seeing that Corona's face was woe- 
 begone, she added: "But you will often be running 
 across to the Nunnery to see me. Besides, I 've 
 brought a small parting gift to console you." 
 
 She unwrapped a paper parcel, and held out a 
 black boy-doll, a real Golliwog, with white shirt but- 
 tons for eyes and hair of black Berlin wool. 
 
 "Oh, Branny!" 
 
 Corona, after holding the Golliwog a moment in 
 outstretched hands, strained it to her breast. 
 
 "Oh, Branny! And till this moment I didn't 
 know how much I 've wanted him!" 
 
 165
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BROTHER COPAS ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 ALL love being a mystery, I see no reason to speculate 
 how or why it came to pass that Corona, who already 
 possessed two pink and waxen girl-dolls, and treated 
 them with the merest contempt, took this black mani- 
 kin of a Golliwog straight to her heart to share its 
 innermost confidences. 
 
 It happened so, and there's no more to be said. 
 Next morning Corona paid an early call at the Nur- 
 sery. 
 
 "I 'm afraid," she said in her best society manner, 
 "this is a perfeckly ridiklous hour. But you are re- 
 sponsible for Timothy in a way, aren't you?" 
 
 "Timothy?" echoed Nurse Branscome. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot!" Corona patted the red-trousered 
 legs of the Golliwog, which she held, not as little girls 
 usually hold dolls, but tucked away under her armpit. 
 "Timothy 's his name, though I mean to call him 
 Timmy for short. But the point is, he 's becoming 
 rather a question." 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 "Well, you see, I have to take him to bed with me. 
 160
 
 ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 He insists on it, which is all very well," continued 
 Corona, nodding sagely, " but one can't allow it in the 
 same clothes day and night. It 's like what Uncle 
 Copas says of Brother Plant's linen; it positively isn't 
 sanitary." 
 
 "I see," said Branny, laughing. "You want me to 
 make a change of garments for him?" 
 
 " I 've examined him," answered Corona. " There's 
 a stitch here and there, but on the whole he '11 un- 
 button quite easily; only I didn't like to do it until I'd 
 consulted you. . . . And I don't want you to bother 
 about the clothes, if you '11 only show me how to cut 
 out. I can sew quite nicely. Mamma taught me. 
 I was making a sampler all through her illness Cor- 
 ona Bonaday, Aged Six Years and Three Months; then 
 the big and little ABC, and the numbers up to ten; 
 after that the Lord's Prayer down to Forgive us our 
 trespasses. When we got to that she died. ... I 
 want to begin with a suit of pajamas no, I forgot; 
 they 're pajamas over here. Whatever happens, I do 
 want him to be a gentleman," concluded Corona 
 earnestly. 
 
 The end was that Nurse Branscome hunted up a 
 piece of coloured flannel, and Master Timothy that 
 same evening was stripped to indue a pyjama suit. 
 Corona carried him thus attired off to her bed in 
 triumph but not to sleep. Brother Bonaday, lying 
 awake, heard her voice running on and on in a rapid 
 167
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 monotone. Ten o'clock struck, and he could endure 
 the sound no longer. It seemed to him that she must 
 be rambling in delirium, and slipping on his dressing- 
 gown, he stole to her chamber door. 
 "Cannot you get to sleep, little maid?" 
 "Is that you daddy?" answered Corona. "I am 
 so sorry, but Timmy and I have been arguing. He 's 
 such a queer child; he has a lingering belief in the 
 House of Lords!" 
 
 "Now I wonder how she gets at that?" mused 
 Brother Bonaday when he reported the saying to 
 Copas. 
 
 "Very simply we shall find; but you must give me 
 a minute or so to think it out." 
 
 " To be sure, with her American up-bringing there 
 might naturally grow an instinctive disrespect for the 
 hereditary principle." 
 
 " I have not observed that disrespect in Americans," 
 answered Brother Copas dryly. " But we '11 credit it 
 to them if you will; and there at once you have a 
 capital reason why our little Miss Bull should worship 
 the House of Lords as a fetish whereas, it appears, 
 she doesn't." 
 
 "It 's the queerer because, when it comes to the 
 King, she worships the 'accident of birth, 1 as you 
 might call it. To her King Edward is nothing less 
 than the Lord's Anointed." 
 168
 
 ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 "Quite so. ... But please, my dear fellow, don't 
 clap into my mouth that silliest of phrases. 'Accident 
 of birth!' I once heard parturition pleaded as an ac- 
 cident by a servant girl in trouble. Funny sort of 
 accident, hey ? Does ever anyone did she, your own 
 daughter, for example come into this world fortu- 
 itously?" 
 
 Brother Copas, taking snuff, did not perceive the 
 twitch of his friend's face. His question seemed to 
 pluck Brother Bonaday up short, as though with the 
 jerk of an actual rope. 
 
 " May be," he harked back vaguely, " it 's just 
 caprice the inconsequence of a child's mind the 
 mystery of it, some would say." 
 
 " Fiddlestick-end ! There 's as much mystery in 
 Corona as in the light of day about us at this moment; 
 just so much and no more. If anything, she 's deadly 
 logical; when her mind puzzles us it's never by 
 hocus-pocus, but simply by swiftness in operation. 
 ... I 've learnt that much of the one female child 
 it has ever been my lot to observe; and the Lord may 
 allow me to enjoy the success towards the close of a 
 life largely spent in misunderstanding boys. Stay 
 a moment " Brother Copas stood with corru- 
 gated brow. "I have it! I remember now that she 
 asked me, two days ago, if I didn't think it disgusting 
 that so many of our English Peers went and married 
 American heiresses merely for their money. Prob- 
 169
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 ably she supposes that on these means our ancient 
 nobility mainly finances itself. She amused me, too, 
 by her obvious reluctance to blame the men. 'Of 
 course/ she said, ' the real fault is the women's, or 
 would be if they knew what 's decent. But you can't 
 expect anything of them; they 've had no nurture.' 
 That was her word. So being a just child, she has to 
 wonder how Englishmen 'with nurture' can so de- 
 mean themselves to get money. In short, my friend, 
 your daughter for love of us both maybe is taking 
 our picturesqueness too honestly. She inclines to find 
 a merit of its own in poverty. It is high time we sent 
 her to school." 
 
 It was high time, as Brother Bonaday knew; if 
 only because every child in England nowadays is 
 legally obliged to be educated, and the local attend- 
 ance officer (easily excused though he might be for 
 some delay in detecting the presence of a child of alien 
 birth in so unlikely a spot as St. Hospital) would 
 surely be on Corona's track before long. But Brother 
 Bonaday hated the prospect of sending her to the 
 parish school, while he possessed no money to send 
 her to a better. Moreover, he obeyed a lifelong in- 
 stinct in shying away from the call to decide. 
 
 " But we were talking about the House of Lords," 
 he suggested feebly. " The hereditary principle 
 
 Brother Copas inhaled his snuff, sideways eyeing 
 this friend whose weakness he understood to a hair's 
 170
 
 ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 breadth. But he, too, had his weakness that of 
 yielding to be led away by dialectic on the first temp- 
 tation. 
 
 "Aye, to be sure. The hereditary principle, did 
 you say ? My dear fellow, the House of Lords never 
 had such a principle. The hereditary right to legis- 
 late slipped in by the merest slant of a side wind, 
 and in its origin was just a handy expedient of the sort 
 so dear to our Constitution, logically absurd, but in 
 practice saving no end of friction and dispute." 
 
 "You will grant at any rate that, having once 
 adopted it, the Lords exalted it to rank as a principle." 
 
 " Yes, and for a time with amazing success. That 
 was their capital error. . . . Have you never ob- 
 served, my good Bonaday, how fatally miracles come 
 home to roost? Jonah spends three days and three 
 nights in the whale's belly why? Simply to get his 
 tale believed. Credo quia impossibile seldom misses to 
 work well for a while. He doesn't foresee, poor fellow, 
 that what makes his fortune with one generation of 
 men will wreck his credit with another. ... So with 
 the House of Lords though here a miracle trium- 
 phantly pointed out as happening under men's eyes 
 was never really happening at all. That in the loins 
 of every titled legislator should lie the germ of another 
 is a miracle (I grant you) of the first order, and may 
 vie with Jonah's sojourn in the whale's belly; nay, it 
 deserved an even longer run for its money, since it 
 171
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 persuaded people that they saw the miraculous suc- 
 cession. But nature was taking care all the time that 
 it never happened. Actually our peerages have per- 
 ished, and new ones have been born at an astonishing 
 rate; about half of them at this moment are younger 
 than the great Reform Bill. A shrewd American re- 
 marked the other day, that while it is true enough a 
 son may not inherit his father's ability, yet if the son 
 of a Rothschild can keep the money his father made 
 he must in these days of liquid securities be a pretty 
 able fellow. Weaklings (added my American) don't 
 last long, at any rate in our times. ' God and Nature 
 turn out the incompetents almost as quickly as would 
 the electorate.' . . . But my point is that the House 
 of Lords, having in the past exploited this supposed 
 miracle for all it was worth, are now (if the Liberals 
 have any sense) to be faced with the overdraft which 
 every miracle leaves to be paid sooner or later. The 
 longer-headed among the Peers perceived this some 
 years ago; they all see it now, and are tumbling over 
 each other in their haste to dodge the 'hereditary 
 principle' somehow. It is for the Liberals to hold 
 them firmly to the dear old miracle and rub their noses 
 in it. So, and so only, will this electorate of ours 
 rid itself, under a misapprehension, of a real peril, 
 to which, if able to see the thing in its true form 
 and dimensions, it would in all likelihood yield itself 
 grovelling." 
 
 172
 
 ON THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 "Eh? I don't follow " 
 
 " I tell you, Bonaday, the House of Lords is in fact 
 no hereditary curse at all. What the devil has it to 
 do with the claims of old descent? Does it contain a 
 man whose ancestor ever saw Agincourt? Bankers, 
 brewers, clothiers, mine-owners, company-promoters, 
 journalists our Upper House to-day is a compact, 
 fairly well-selected body of men who have pushed to 
 success over their fellows. Given such a body of 
 supermen, well agreed among themselves, and know- 
 ing what they want, supplied with every temptation 
 to feed on the necessities of the weak, armed with ex- 
 travagant legal powers, even fortified with a philosophy 
 in the sham Darwin doctrine that, with nations as with 
 men, the poverty of one is the wealth of another 
 there, my dear sir, you have a menace against which, 
 could they realise it, all moderate citizens would be 
 fighting for their lives. . . . But it is close upon din- 
 ner-time, and I refuse to extend these valuable but 
 parenthetical remarks on the House of Lords one 
 whit further to please your irresolution. ... It 's 
 high time Corona went to school." 
 
 " I have not been well lately, as you know, Brother. 
 I meant all along, as soon as I picked up my strength 
 again, to " 
 
 "Tilly vally, tilly vally!" snapped Brother Copas. 
 "Since we are making excuses shall we add that, 
 without admitting ourselves to be snobs, we have re- 
 173
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 marked a certain refinement a delicacy of mind in 
 Corona, and doubt if the bloom of it will survive the 
 rough contact of a public elementary school? . . . 
 Come, I 've thought of that, as a godfather should. 
 You 're aware that, a couple of years ago, a small 
 legacy dropped in upon me a trifling windfall of ten 
 guineas a year. Well, I 've been wasting it on luxu- 
 ries a few books I don't read, a more expensive 
 brand of tobacco, which really is no better than the 
 old shag, some extra changes of body linen. Now 
 since the Education Act of 1902 the fees in the public 
 secondary day schools have been cut down to a figure 
 quite ridiculously low, and the private day schools 
 have been forced to follow suit. I dare say that seven 
 pounds a year will send Corona, say, to Miss Dickin- 
 son's genteel seminary nay, I '11 undertake to beat 
 the lady down to that sum and I shall still be left 
 with three pounds and ten shillings to squander on 
 
 shirts. Now if you start thanking me Ah, there 
 
 goes the dinner-bell! Hurry, man you 're first on 
 the roster!" 
 
 174
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 
 
 So Corona was sent to school, but not, as it befell, 
 to Miss Dickinson's. 
 
 Brother Copas, indeed, paid a visit to Miss Dick- 
 inson, and, warned by some wise instinct, took the 
 child with him. 
 
 Miss Dickinson herself opened the front door, and 
 explained with an accent of high refinement that her 
 house-parlour maid was indisposed that morning, and 
 her cook busy for the moment. 
 
 "You have some message for me?" she asked 
 graciously; for the Brethren of St. Hospital pick up 
 a little business as letter-carriers or commissionaires. 
 
 On learning her visitor's errand, of a sudden she 
 stiffened in demeanour. Corona, watching her face 
 intently, noted the change. 
 
 "Dear me, what a very unusual application!" said 
 Miss Dickinson, but nevertheless invited them to step 
 inside. 
 
 "We can discuss matters more freely without the 
 child," she suggested. 
 
 175
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "As you please, ma'am," said Copas, "provided 
 you don't ask her to wait in the street." 
 
 Corona was ushered into an apartment at the back 
 the boudoir, its mistress called it and was left 
 there amid a din of singing canaries, while Miss Dick- 
 inson carried off Brother Copas to the drawing-room. 
 
 The boudoir contained some scholastic furniture and 
 a vast number of worthless knick-knacks in poker- 
 work, fret-work, leathern applique-work, gummed 
 shell-work, wool-work, tambour- work, with crysto- 
 leum paintings and drawings in chalk and water- 
 colour. On a table in front of the window stood a 
 cage with five canaries singing in it. Corona herself 
 felt a sense of imprisonment, but no desire to sing. 
 The window looked upon a walled yard, in which 
 fifteen girls of various ages were walking through 
 some kind of drill under an instructress whose ap- 
 pearance puzzled her until she remembered that Miss 
 Dickinson's cook was " busy for the moment." 
 
 Corona watched their movements with an interest 
 begotten of pity. The girls whispered and prinked, 
 and exchanged confidences with self-conscious airs. 
 They paid but a perfunctory attention to the drill. 
 It was clear they despised their instructress. Yet 
 they seemed happy enough, in a way. 
 
 " I wonder why ?" thought Corona. "I don't like 
 Miss Dickinson; first, because she has the nose of a 
 witch, and next because she is afraid of us. I think 
 176
 
 CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 
 
 she is afraid of us because we 're poor. Well, I 'm 
 not afraid of her not really; but I 'd feel mighty 
 uncomfortable if she had dear old daddy in there 
 alone instead of Uncle Copas." 
 
 Meanwhile in the drawing-room likewise resonant 
 with canaries Miss Dickinson was carefully help- 
 ing Brother Copas to understand that as a rule she 
 excluded all but children of the upper classes. 
 
 " It is not if you will do me so much credit that 
 I look down upon the others; but I find that the 
 children themselves are not so happy when called 
 upon to mix with those of a different station. The 
 world, after all, is the world, and we must face facts 
 as they are." 
 
 "You mean, ma'am, that your young ladies or 
 some of them might twit Corona for having a father 
 who wears the Beauchamp robe." 
 
 "I would not say that. ... In fact I have some 
 influence over them, it is to be hoped, and should im- 
 press upon them beforehand that the er subject is 
 not to be alluded to." 
 
 "That would be extremely tactful," said Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 He rose. 
 
 "Pray be seated. ... As I dare say you know, 
 Mr. " 
 
 "Copas." 
 
 " As I dare say you know, Mr. Copas, higher 
 177
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 education in England just now is passing through a 
 er phase; it is .(to use a forcible, if possibly vulgar, 
 expression) in a state of flux. I do not conceal from 
 myself that this must be largely attributed to the Ed- 
 ucation Act of 1902." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Brother Copas dived finger and thumb into his 
 waistcoat pocket in search of his snuff-box, but, 
 recollecting himself, withdrew them hastily. 
 
 "Mr. Balfour, whether he meant it or no, hit the 
 private-venture schools beyond a doubt." 
 
 "One may trust that it is but a temporary blow. 
 I have, let me say, the utmost confidence in Mr. 
 Balfour's statesmanship. I believe far-sighted man 
 that he is, and with his marvellous apprehension of 
 the English character 
 
 " 'Tis a Scotchman's first aptitude," murmured 
 Brother Copas, nodding assent. 
 
 " I believe Mr. Balfour looked beyond the im- 
 mediate effect of the Act and saw that, after the 
 municipalities' and county councils' first success in 
 setting up secondary schools of their own, each with 
 its quota of poor, non-paying children, our sturdy 
 British independence would rise against the er 
 contact. The self-respecting parent is bound to say 
 in time, 'No, I will not have my son, still less my 
 daughter, sitting with Tom, Dick and Harry.' In- 
 deed, I see signs of this already most encouraging 
 178
 
 CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 
 
 signs. I have two more pupils this term than last, 
 both children of respectable station." 
 
 "I congratulate you, ma'am, and I feel sure that 
 Mr. Balfour would congratulate himself, could he 
 hear. But meantime the private-venture schools 
 have been hit, especially those not fortunate enough 
 to be 'recognised' by the Board of Education." 
 
 " I seek no such recognition, sir," said Miss Dick- 
 inson stiffly. 
 
 Brother Copas bowed. 
 
 "Forgive, ma'am, the intrusive ghost of a profes- 
 sional interest. I myself once kept a private school 
 for boys. A precarious venture always, and it re- 
 quired no Education Act to wreck mine." 
 
 " Indeed ? " Miss Dickinson raised her eyebrows 
 in faint surprise, and anon contracted them. "Had 
 I known that you belonged to the scholastic profes- 
 sion " she began, but leaving the sentence un- 
 finished, appeared to relapse into thought. 
 
 "Believe me, ma'am," put in Brother Copas, "I 
 mentioned it casually, not as hinting at any remission 
 of your fees." 
 
 "No, no. But I was thinking that it might con- 
 siderably soften the er objection. You are not the 
 child's parent, you say? Nor grandparent?" 
 
 "Her godparent only, and that by adoption. In 
 so much as I make myself responsible for her school 
 fees, you may consider me her guardian. Her father, 
 179
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Brother Bonaday, is a decayed gentleman, sometime 
 of independent means, who married late in life, and, 
 on top of this, was indiscreet enough to confide his 
 affairs to a trusted family solicitor." 
 
 "Dear, dear! Why did you not tell me all this 
 to begin with?" demanded Miss Dickinson, rising. 
 "Shall we consider it agreed, then? the child to 
 come to me as soon as you wish." 
 
 " I think we must first discover if she 's willing," 
 answered Brother Copas, rubbing his chin. 
 
 "We will go to her." 
 
 They found Corona at the window of the boudoir. 
 As the door opened she turned, ran to Brother Copas, 
 and clung to him. 
 
 "Take me home! Oh, please take me home!" 
 
 "Hey?" Brother Copas soothed her, patting the 
 back of her head. "W T hy, what is the matter, little 
 maid? Who has been frightening you?" 
 
 "She turns them all into canaries I know she 
 does!" the child asserted, still shaking pitiably, but 
 facing Miss Dickinson with accusation in her eyes. 
 "You can tell it by her nose and chin. I I thought 
 you had gone away and left me with her." 
 
 "You did not tell me she was hysterical," said 
 Miss Dickinson. 
 
 " It 's news to me, ma'am. I 'd best get her out 
 into the fresh air at once." 
 
 Without waiting for permission, he swept Corona 
 180
 
 CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 
 
 out into the passage, and forth into the street. It is 
 a question which felt the happier when they gained 
 it, and stood drawing long breaths; but, of course, 
 Brother Copas had to put on a severe face. 
 
 "All very well, little maid!" 
 
 " Oh, I know you 're disappointed with me," gasped 
 Corona. *' I 'm disappointed with myself. But it was 
 all just like Jorinda and Jorindcl, and if she 's not 
 a witch, and doesn't turn them into canaries, why 
 does she keep all those cages?" She halted sud- 
 denly. " I hate to be a coward," she said. " If you '11 
 come with me, Uncle Copas, I '11 start back right here, 
 and we '11 go in and rescue them. It was the waiting 
 I couldn't stand." 
 
 "Canaries?" Brother Copas stood and looked 
 down on her. Some apprehension of the absurd 
 fancy broke on him, and he chuckled. "Now you 
 come to mention it, I dare say she does turn 'em into 
 canaries." 
 
 "Then we ought to go straight back and set them 
 free," insisted Corona. "If only we had the magic 
 flower!" 
 
 "I think I know who has it. ... Yes, you may 
 take it from me, little one, that there 's someone 
 charged to put an end to Miss Dickinson's enchant- 
 ments, and we may safely leave it to him." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "The deliverer's name is County Council. . . . 
 181
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 But look here, child if you make a fuss like this 
 whenever I try to find a school for you " 
 
 "I won't make a fuss. And I do want to go to 
 school," interrupted Corona. "I want to go to the 
 Greycoats." 
 
 "The Greycoats?" This was an ancient founda- 
 tion in the city, in origin a charity-school, but now 
 distinguished from the ordinary Elementary Schools 
 in that its pupils paid twopence a week, and wore 
 a grey uniform provided per contra from the funds 
 of the charity. " The Greycoats ? " repeated Brother 
 Copas. "But I had a mind for you to fly higher, 
 if you understand 
 
 Corona nodded. 
 
 " And so I shall ; that is, Uncle, if you '11 teach me 
 Latin, as you promised." 
 
 She was easy in mind, since Miss Dickinson's cana- 
 ries would be delivered. The name " County Coun- 
 cil" meant nothing to her, but it had affinity with 
 other names and titles of romance Captain Judg- 
 ment, for instance, in The Holy War, and County 
 Guy in the poetry book 
 
 "Ah: County Guy, the hour is nigh" 
 
 Since Uncle Copas had said it, Miss Dickinson's 
 hour was assuredly nigh. 
 
 "This is not the way, though," Corona protested. 
 "We are walking right away from the Greycoats!" 
 182
 
 CANARIES AND GREYCOATS 
 
 Brother Copas halted. 
 
 "I supposed that I was taking you back to St. 
 Hospital." 
 
 " But you came out to put me to school, and I want 
 to go to the Greycoats." 
 
 He pondered a moment. 
 
 "Ah, well, have it your own way!" 
 
 They turned back toward the city. The Greycoats 
 inhabited a long, single-storied building on the eastern 
 boundary of the Cathedral Close, the boys and girls 
 in separate schools under the same high-pitched roof. 
 As our two friends came in sight of it, Corona who 
 had been running ahead in her impatience hesitated 
 of a sudden and turned about. 
 
 "Uncle Copas, before we go in I want to tell you 
 something. ... I was really frightened yes, really 
 in that wicked house. But I wanted to be a Grey- 
 coat all the time. I want to wear a cloak that means 
 I belong to Merchester, same as you and Daddy." 
 
 "Lord forgive me, she's proud of us!" murmured 
 Brother Copas. "And I set out this morning to get 
 her taught to despise us!" 
 
 183
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 MEANWHILE certain small events not unconnected 
 with this history were happening at St. Hospital. 
 
 At ten o'clock punctually Mr. Colt waited on the 
 Master. This was a part of the daily routine, but 
 ninety-nine times in a hundred the Chaplain's report 
 resolved itself into a chat on the weather, the Master's 
 roses, some recent article in the Church Times or the 
 Guardian. The talk was never very strenuous, for 
 whereas Mr. Colt could never learn to distinguish one 
 rose from another, on Church affairs or on politics 
 the Master was hopelessly tolerant, antiquated, in- 
 curious even. What could one do with a dear old 
 gentleman who, when informed of the latest, most 
 dangerous promotion to a bishopric, but responded 
 with " Eh ? ' So-and-so,' did you say ? . . . Yes, yes. 
 I knew his father ... an excellent fellow!" 
 
 This morning, however, the Chaplain wore a grave 
 face. After a few words he came to business. 
 
 " It concerns a letter I received this morning. The 
 writer, who signs himself ' Well Wisher/ makes a dis- 
 184
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 gusting allegation against old Bonaday an incredi- 
 bly disgusting allegation. You will prefer to read it 
 for yourself." 
 
 Mr. Colt produced the letter from his pocket-book, 
 and held it out. 
 
 "Eh?" exclaimed Master Blanchminster, receding. 
 "Another?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 The Master adjusted his glasses, and bent forward, 
 still without offering to touch the thing or receive it 
 from Mr. Colt's hand. 
 
 "Yes, yes. I recognize the handwriting. ... To 
 tell the truth, my dear Colt, I received just such a 
 letter one day last week. For the moment it caused 
 me great distress of mind." 
 
 Mr. Colt was vexed, a little hurt, that the Master 
 had not consulted him about it. 
 
 "You mean to say it contained " 
 
 " the same sort of thing, no doubt: charges 
 against Brother Bonaday and against one of the 
 nurses: incredibly disgusting, as you say." 
 
 "May I be allowed to compare the two letters? 
 ... I do not," said Mr. Colt stiffly, "seek more of 
 your confidence than you care to bestow." 
 
 "My dear fellow " protested the Master. 
 
 "I merely suggest that, since it concerns the disci- 
 pline of St. Hospital for which in the past you have 
 
 honoured me with some responsibility : 
 
 185
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "My dear fellow, you should see it and welcome; 
 
 but the fact is " Here the Master broke off. 
 
 "I ought, no doubt, to have put it straight into the 
 fire." 
 
 "Why?" asked Mr. Colt. 
 
 "But the fact is, I gave it away." 
 
 "Gave it away! . . . To whom, may I ask?" 
 
 "To Brother Copas, of all people," confessed the 
 Master with a rueful little chuckle. "Yes, I don't 
 wonder that you stare: yet it happened very simply. 
 You remember the day I asked you to send him to me 
 for a talk about the Petition? Well, he found me in 
 distress over this letter, which I had just received, 
 and on an impulse I showed it to him. I really 
 wanted his assurance that the charge was as baseless 
 as it was foul, and that assurance he gave me. So 
 you may with an easy mind put your letter in the 
 fire." 
 
 "It would at any rate be a safer course than to 
 give it away," said the Chaplain, frowning. 
 
 "A hit a palpable hit! . . . I ought to have added 
 that Brother Copas has a notion he can discover the 
 writer, whom he positively asserts to be a woman. 
 So I allowed him to take the thing away with him. I 
 may as well confess," the old man added, " that I 
 live in some dread of his making the discovery. Of 
 course it is horrible to think that St. Hospital harbours 
 anyone capable of such a letter; but to deal ade- 
 186
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 quately with the culprit especially if she be a woman 
 will be for the moment yet more horrible." 
 
 "Excuse me, Master, if I don't quite follow you," 
 said the Chaplain unsympathetically. "You appear 
 to be exercised rather over the writer than over 
 Brother Bonaday, against whom the charge lies." 
 
 "You have hit on the precise word," answered 
 Master Blanchminster, smiling. " Brother Copas as- 
 sures me ' 
 
 " But is Brother Copas an entirely credible witness ? " 
 
 The master lifted his eyebrows in astonishment. 
 
 "Why, who should know better? He is Brother 
 Bonaday's closest friend. Surely, my dear fellow, I 
 had thought you were aware of that!" 
 
 In the face of this simplicity the Chaplain could 
 only grind his teeth upon a helpless inward wrath. 
 It took him some seconds to recover speech. 
 
 "On my way here," he said at length, "I made 
 some small inquiries, and find that some days ago 
 Nurse Branscome ceased her attendance on Bonaday, 
 handing over the case to our excellent Nurse Turner. 
 This, of course, may mean little." 
 
 "It may mean that Brother Copas has taken occa- 
 sion to warn her." 
 
 "It means, anyhow, that whether prudently or 
 by accident she has given pause to the scandal. 
 In this pause I can, perhaps, make occasion to get at 
 the truth; always with your leave, of course." 
 187
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "There can be no question of my giving leave or 
 withholding it. You have received a private letter, 
 which you perceive I have no desire to read. You 
 must act upon it as directed by your own er taste. 
 And now shall we talk of something else?" 
 
 He said it with a mild dignity which effectively 
 closed the discussion and left Mr. Colt raging. In 
 and about St. Hospital nine observers out of ten 
 would have told you that the Chaplain held this dear, 
 do-nothing old Master in the hollow of his hand, and 
 on nine occasions out of ten the Chaplain felt sure 
 of it. On the tenth he found himself mocked, as a 
 schoolboy believes he has grasped a butterfly and 
 opens his fingers cautiously, to find no prisoner within 
 them. He could never precisely understand how it 
 happened, and it never failed to annoy him heavily. 
 
 After bidding the Master good-morning he went 
 straight to Brother Bonaday's lodging. Brother Bon- 
 aday, now fairly convalescent, was up and dressed 
 and seated in his arm-chair, whiling away the morn- 
 ing with a newspaper. In days of health he had been 
 a diligent reader of dull books; had indeed (according 
 to his friend Copas but the story may be apocryphal) 
 been known to sit up past midnight with an antiquated 
 Annual Report of the Registrar-General, borrowed 
 from the shelf of Brother Inchbald, whose past avo- 
 cations had included the registering of Births, Deaths 
 and Marriages somewhere in Wiltshire. But of late, 
 188
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 as sometimes happens in old age, books had lost their 
 savour for him, and he preferred to let his eyes rest 
 idly on life's passing show as reflected in the camera 
 obscura of a halfpenny paper. 
 
 He rose respectfully as the Chaplain entered. 
 
 "Be seated, please," said Mr. Colt. Declining a 
 chair for himself, he planted his feet astraddle on the 
 worn hearthrug. 
 
 Standing so, with his back to the grate, his broad 
 shoulders blocking out the lower half of a picture of 
 the Infant Samuel above the mantelshelf, he towered 
 over the frail invalid, concerning whose health he 
 asked a few perfunctory questions before plunging 
 into business. 
 
 " You 're wondering what brings me here. Fact 
 is," he announced, " I 've come to ask you a plain 
 question a question it 's my duty to ask; and I 
 think you 're strong enough to answer it without 
 any beating about the bush on either side. For six 
 months now I haven't seen you at Holy Communion. 
 Why?" 
 
 Brother Bonaday's face twitched sharply. For a 
 moment or two he seemed to be searching for an 
 answer. His lips parted, but still no answer came. 
 
 " I know, you know," said the Chaplain, nodding 
 down at him. " I keep a record of these things 
 names and dates." 
 
 Brother Bonaday might have answered 
 
 189
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Quite so and that is why." 
 
 Some churchmen of the type for which Mr. Colt 
 adequately catered revel in professing their faith, 
 and will parade for its holiest sacrament with an 
 unabashed and hail-fellow sociability; and doubtless 
 for these "brass-band communicants" (as Brother 
 Copas called them) a great deal may be said. But 
 Brother Bonaday was one of those others who, walk- 
 ing among mysteries, must hush the voice and bow 
 the head; to whom the Elements are awful, and in 
 whom awe begets a sweet and tender shame. To be 
 docketed as having, on such and such a day, at such 
 and such an hour, partaken of them was to him an 
 intolerable thought. To quote Brother Copas again, 
 "These Neo-Catholics may well omit to fence the 
 tables, confident in the protection of their own vul- 
 garity." 
 
 Yet Brother Bonaday had another reason, on which 
 the Chaplain hit though brutally and by accident 
 in his next question. 
 
 "Haven't anything on your conscience, hey?" 
 
 Brother Bonaday had something on his conscience. 
 His face twitched with the pain of it; but still he 
 made no answer. 
 
 "If so," Mr. Colt pursued, "take my advice and 
 
 have it out." He spoke as one recommending the 
 
 extraction of a tooth. " You 're a Protestant, I 
 
 know, though you didn't sign that Petition; and I 'm 
 
 190
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 not here to argue about first principles. I 'm come 
 as a friend. All I suggest is, as between practical 
 men, that you just give the thing a trial. It may be 
 pretty bad," suggested Mr. Colt, dropping his air of 
 authority and picking up his most insinuating voice. 
 "I hear some pretty bad things; but I'll guarantee 
 your feeling all the better for a clean breast. Come, 
 let me make a guess. ... It has something to do 
 with this child of yours!" 
 
 Mr. Colt, looking down from his great height, saw 
 the invalid's face contracted by a sharp spasm, noted 
 that his thin hands gripped upon the arms of the chair 
 so tightly that the finger-nails whitened, and smiled 
 to himself. Here was plain sailing. 
 
 "I know more than you guessed, eh? Well, now, 
 why not tell me the whole truth?" 
 
 Brother Bonaday gazed up as if appealing for 
 mercy, but shook his head. 
 
 "I cannot, sir." 
 
 "Come, come as to a friend, if you won't as to a 
 priest? . . . Hang it all, my good man, you might 
 give me credit for that, considering the chance I 'm 
 holding out. You don't surely suppose that St. 
 Hospital will continue to suffer this scandal in its 
 midst?" Still as Brother Bonaday shook his head, 
 the Chaplain with a sigh of impatience enlarged his 
 hint. " Copas knows: I have it on the best authority. 
 Was it he that dropped the hint to Nurse Branscome ? 
 191
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 or did she herself scent the discovery and give over 
 attending on you?" 
 
 "You won't send her away!" pleaded Brother 
 Bonaday, thinking only of Corona. 
 
 His voice came in a whisper, between gasps for 
 breath. 
 
 Mr. Colt stared. 
 
 "Well, of all the calm requests !" he began. 
 
 But here the sound of a light running footstep cut 
 him short. The door was pushed open, and on the 
 threshold stood Corona, flushed, excited. 
 
 "Daddy, guess! Oh, but you'll never! I 'm a 
 real live Greycoat, and if I don't tell Timmy before 
 you ask a single question I shall burst!" 
 
 She came to a halt, her eyes on Mr. Colt. 
 ' 'Tis the truth," announced Brother Copas, over- 
 taking her as she paused in the doorway. " We shot 
 at a canary, and Good God!" he exclaimed, 
 catching sight of Brother Bonaday's face. "Slip 
 away and fetch the nurse, child!" 
 
 Corona ran. While she ran Brother Copas stepped 
 past Mr. Colt, and slid an arm under his friend's 
 head as it dropped sideways, blue with anguish. He 
 turned on the tall Chaplain fiercely. 
 
 "What devil's game have you been playing here?" 
 
 192
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 THROUGHOUT the night Brother Bonaday hovered 
 between life and death, nor until four days later did 
 the doctor pronounce him out of danger that is to 
 say, for the time, since the trouble in his heart was 
 really incurable, and at best the frail little man's re- 
 maining days could not be many. Nurse Turner 
 waited on him assiduously, always with her com- 
 fortable smile. No trouble came amiss to her, and 
 certainly Nurse Branscome herself could not have 
 done better. 
 
 In a sense, too, Corona's first experiences of school- 
 going befell her most opportunely. They would dis- 
 tract her mind, Brother Copas reflected, and tore up 
 the letter he had written delaying her noviciate on 
 the ground of her father's illness. They did; and, 
 moreover, the head mistress of the Greycoats, old 
 Miss Champernowne, aware that the child's father 
 was ill, possibly dying, took especial pains to be kind 
 to her. 
 
 Corona was dreadfully afraid her father would die. 
 But, in the main most mercifully, youth lives for it- 
 193
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 self, not for the old. At home she could have given 
 little help or none. The Brethren's quarters were 
 narrow even Brother Bonaday's with its spare 
 chamber and until the crisis was over she could 
 only be in the way. She gave up her room, therefore, 
 to Nurse Turner for the night watching, and went 
 across to the Nunnery to lodge with Nurse Branscome. 
 This again was no hardship, but rather, under all her 
 cloud of anxiety, a delightful adventure; for Branny 
 had at once engaged with her in a conspiracy. 
 
 The subject for a while the victim of this con- 
 spiracy was her black doll Timothy. As yet Timo- 
 thy knew nothing, and was supposed to suspect noth- 
 ing, of her goings to school. She had carefully kept 
 the secret from him, intending to take him aback 
 with it when she brought home the Greycoat uniform 
 frock and cloak and hood of duffle grey for which 
 Miss Champernowne had measured her. Mean- 
 while it was undoubtedly hard on him to lie neglected 
 in a drawer, and be visited but twice in the twenty- 
 four hours, to have his garments changed. Corona, 
 putting him into pyjamas, would (with an aching 
 heart) whisper to him to be patient for a little while 
 yet, and all would come right. 
 
 " It is hard, Branny," she sighed, " that I can't even 
 take him to bed with me. . . . But it 's not to be 
 thought of. I 'd be sure to talk in my sleep." 
 
 " He seems to be a very unselfish person," observed 
 194
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 Branny. "At any rate, you treat him as such, mak- 
 ing him wait all this while for the delight of seeing 
 you happy." 
 
 Corona knit her brow. 
 
 " Now you 're talking upsi-downly, like Uncle 
 Copas," she said. "You don't mean that Timmy's 
 unselfish, but that I 'm selfish. Of course, you don't 
 realize how good he is; nobody does but me, and it 's 
 not to be es-pected. But all the same, I s'pose I 've 
 been thinking too much about myself." 
 
 Corona's was a curiously just mind, as has already 
 been said. 
 
 Nurse Branscome had a happy inspiration. 
 
 "Couldn't we make new clothes for Timmy, and 
 surprise him with them at the same time?" 
 
 Corona clapped her hands. 
 
 "Oh, Branny, how beautiful! Yes a Beauchamp 
 gown, just like Daddy's! Why-ever didn't we think 
 of it before?" 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A Beauchamp gown. ... Do you know," said 
 Corona gravely, " it 's a most 'stonishing thing I 
 never thought of it, because I '11 tell you why. 
 When I first came to St. Hospital often and often I 
 couldn't get to sleep for thinking how happy I was. 
 Daddy got worried about it, and told me it was a 
 good cure to lie still and fancy I saw a flock of sheep 
 jumping one after another through a hedge. . . . 
 195
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Well, that didn't answer at least, not ezactly; for 
 you see I wanted to be coaxed off, and I never took 
 any particular truck in sheep. But one night you 
 know that big stone by the gate of the home-park? 
 the one Uncle Copas calls the Hepping-stone, and 
 says the great Cardinal used to climb on to his horse 
 from it when he went hunting?" (Nurse Branscome 
 nodded.) "Well, one night I closed my eyes, and 
 there I saw all the old folks here turned into children, 
 and all out and around the Hepping-stone, playing 
 leap-frog. . . . The way they went over each other's 
 backs! It beat the band. . . . Some were in Beau- 
 champ gowns and others in Blanchminster but all 
 children, you understand? Each child finished up 
 by leap-frogging over the stone; and when he 'd done 
 that he 'd run away and be lost among the trees. I 
 wanted to follow, but somehow I had to stand there 
 counting. . . . And that 's all there is to it," con- 
 cluded Corona, " 'cept that I 'd found the way to 
 go to sleep." 
 
 Nurse Branscome laughed, and suggested that no 
 time should be lost in going off to call on Mr. Colling, 
 the tailor, and begging or borrowing a scrap of the 
 claret-coloured Beauchamp cloth. Within ten min- 
 utes for she understood the impatience of children 
 they had started on this small expedition. They 
 found in Mr. Colling a most human tailor. He not 
 only gave them a square yard of cloth, unsoiled and 
 196
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 indeed brand-new, but advised Nurse Branscome 
 learnedly on the cutting-out. There were certain 
 peculiarities of cut in a Beauchamp gown: it was (he 
 could tell them) a unique garment in its way, and he 
 the sole repository of its technical secret. On their 
 way back Corona summarised him as " a truly Chris- 
 tian tradesman." 
 
 So the miniature gown was cut out, shaped, and 
 sewn, after the unsuspecting Timothy had, been 
 measured for it on a pretence of Corona's that she 
 wanted to discover how much he had grown during 
 his rest-cure. (For I regret to say that, as one sub- 
 terfuge leads to another, she had by this time de- 
 scended to feigning a nervous breakdown for him, 
 due to his outgrowing his strength.) Best of all, and 
 when the gown was finished, Nurse Branscome pro- 
 duced from her workbox a lucky threepenny-bit, and 
 sewed it upon the breast to simulate a Beauchamp 
 
 When Corona's own garments arrived when they 
 were indued and she stood up in them, a Greycoat at 
 length from head to heel to hide her own feelings 
 she had to invent another breakdown (emotional 
 this time) for Timothy as she dangled the gown in 
 front of him. 
 
 "Be a man, Timmy!" she exhorted him. 
 
 Having clothed him and clasped him to her breast, 
 she turned to Nurse Branscome, who had been per- 
 197
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 mitted, as indeed she deserved, to witness the coup 
 de thedtre. 
 
 " If you don't mind, Branny, I think we '11 go off 
 somewhere by ourselves." 
 
 She carried the doll off to the one unkempt corner 
 of Mr. Battershall's garden, where in the shadow of 
 a stone dovecot, ruinated and long disused, a rustic 
 bench stood deep in nettles. On this she perched 
 herself, and sat with legs dangling while she dis- 
 coursed with Timothy of their new promotion. 
 
 "Of course," she said, "you have the best of it. 
 Men always have." Nevertheless, she would have 
 him know that to be a Greycoat was good enough 
 for most people. She described the schoolroom. 
 "It 's something like a chapel," she said, "and some- 
 thing like a long whitewashed bird-cage, with great 
 beams for perches. You could eat your dinner off 
 the floor most days; and Miss Champernowne has 
 the dearest little mole on the left side of her upper 
 lip, with three white hairs in it. When she looks at 
 you over her glasses it 's like a bird getting ready 
 to drink; and when she plays 'Another day is done' 
 on the harmonium and pitches the note, it 's just the 
 way a bird lifts his throat to let the water trickle down 
 inside. She has the loveliest way of putting things, 
 too. Only yesterday, speaking of China, she told us 
 that words would fail her to describe one-half the 
 wonders of that enchanted land. . . . After that 
 198
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 there 's going to be no rest for me until I 've seen 
 China for myself. Such a nice lot of children as they 
 are, if it weren't for Marty Jewell. She sits next to 
 me and copies my sums, and when I remind her of 
 it she puts out her tongue; but she has a sister in 
 the infant class at the end of the room with the same 
 trick, so I s'pose it runs in the family. ... I 'm 
 forgetting, though," she ran on. " You 're Brother 
 Timothy now, a Beauchamp Brother, and the Lord 
 knows how I 'm to make you sensible of it! I heard 
 Brother Clerihew taking a party around yesterday, 
 and played around close to hear what he had to tell 
 about the place. All he said was that if these old 
 walls could speak what a tale might they not unfold ? 
 And then a lady turned round and supposed that 
 the child (meaning me) was following them on the 
 chance of a copper. So I came away. ... I 've my 
 belief," announced Corona, "Brother Clerihew was 
 speaking through his hat. There 's nobody but Uncle 
 Copas knows anything about this place him and 
 the Lord Almighty; and as the chief engineer told me 
 aboard the Carnatic, when I kept asking him how 
 soon we should get to England, He won't split under 
 a quart. The trouble is, Uncle Copas won't lay up 
 for visitors. Manby, at the lodge, says he 's too 
 proud. . . . But maybe he '11 take me round some 
 day if I ask him nicely, and then you can come on 
 my arm and pretend you 're not listening. . . . No," 
 199
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 announced Corona, after musing awhile, " that would 
 be deception. I '11 have to go to him and make a 
 clean breast of it." 
 
 It occurred to her that Brother Manby was a friend 
 of hers. He didn't know much, to be sure; but he 
 was capable of entering into a joke and introducing 
 Timothy to the Wayfarers' Dole. She tucked the 
 doll under her arm and wended towards the porter's 
 lodge, where, as it happened, she met Brother Copas 
 coming through the gateway in talk with the Chap- 
 lain. 
 
 The Chaplain in fact had sought out Brother Copas, 
 had found him in his customary haunt, fishing gloom- 
 ily and alone beside the Mere, and had opened his 
 purpose for once pretty straightly, yet keeping an- 
 other in reserve. 
 
 "The Master has told me he gave you an anony- 
 mous letter that reached him concerning Brother 
 Bonaday. I have made up my mind to ask you a 
 question or two quite frankly about it." 
 
 "Now what in the world can he want?" thought 
 Copas, continuing to whip the stream. Aloud he 
 said: "You '11 excuse me, but I see no frankness in 
 your asking questions before telling me how much 
 you know." 
 
 " I intended that. I have received a similar letter." 
 
 "I guessed as much. ... So you called on him 
 200
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 with it and bullied him into another attack of angina 
 pectorisf That too I guessed. Well?" 
 
 The Chaplain made no answer for a moment. 
 Then he said with some dignity 
 
 "I might point out to you might I not? that 
 both your speech and the manner of it are grossly 
 insubordinate." 
 
 " I know it. ... I am sorry, sir; but in some way 
 or another by showing him your letter, I suppose 
 you have come near to killing my only friend." 
 
 " I did not show him the letter." 
 
 " Then I beg your pardon." Brother Copas turned 
 and began to wind in his line. "If you wish to talk 
 about it, I recognise that you have the right, sir; but 
 let me beg you to be brief." 
 
 " The more willingly because I wish to consult you 
 afterwards on a pleasanter subject. . . . Now in this 
 matter, I put it to you that the Master choosing to 
 stand aside you and I have some responsibility. 
 Try, first, to understand mine. So long as I have 
 to account for the discipline of St. Hospital I can 
 scarcely ignore such a scandal, hey?" 
 
 "No," agreed Brother Copas, after a long look at 
 him. "I admit that you would find it difficult." 
 He mused a while. "No," he repeated; "to be quite 
 fair, there 's no reason why you who don't know 
 Bonaday should assume him to be any better than 
 the rest of us." 
 
 201
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 - While you, on your part, will naturally be 
 eager to clear your friend." 
 
 "If I thought the accusation serious." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have simply ignored 
 it?" 
 
 Now this happened to be an awkward question; 
 and Brother Copas, seeking to evade it, jumped (as 
 they say) from the frying pan into the fire. 
 
 "Tut, sir! The invention of some poisonous 
 woman!" 
 
 "You are sure the letter was written by a woman?" 
 
 Brother Copas was sure, but had to admit that he 
 lacked evidence. He did not confess to having laid 
 a small plot which had failed him. He had received 
 no less than eleven tenders for his weekly laundry, 
 but not one of the applicants had written the "W" 
 in "Washing List" with that characteristic initial 
 curl of which he was in search. 
 
 "Then you have made some investigations? . . . 
 Nay, I don't wish more of your confidence than you 
 choose to give me. So long as I know that you are 
 not treating the business as negligible 
 
 "I don't promise to inquire one inch farther." 
 
 "But you will, nevertheless," concluded Mr. Colt 
 with the patronising laugh of one who knows his man. 
 
 "Damn the fellow!" thought Copas. "Why can- 
 not he be always the fool he looks?" 
 
 202
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 " And now," pursued Mr. Colt blithely, " I want to 
 engage your interest in another matter I mean the 
 Pageant." 
 
 "Oh!" said Brother Copas. "Is that still going 
 forward ? " 
 
 "Settled, my dear sir! When Mr. Bamberger 
 once puts his hand to the plough. ... A General 
 Committee has been formed, with the Lord-Lieuten- 
 ant himself for President. The guarantee fund al- 
 ready runs to 1,500, and we shall get twice that 
 amount promised before we 've done. In short, the 
 thing 's to come off some time next June, and I am 
 Chairman of the Performance Committee, which 
 (under Mr. Isidore Bamberger) arranges the actual 
 Pageant, plans out the 'book/ recruits authors, per- 
 formers, ei cetera. There are other committees, of 
 course: Finance Committee, Ground and Grand 
 Stand Committee, Costume Committee, and so on; 
 but ours is the really interesting part of the work, and, 
 sir, I want you to join us." 
 
 "You flatter me, sir; or you fish with a narrow 
 mesh indeed." 
 
 " Why, I dare swear you would know more of the 
 past history of Merchester than any man you met 
 at the committee-table." 
 
 Brother Copas eyed him shrewdly. 
 
 "H'm! . . . To be sure, I have been specialising 
 of late on the Reformation period." 
 203
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "I er don't think we shall include any episode 
 dealing specially with that period." 
 
 "Too serious, perhaps?" 
 
 "Our er object is to sweep broadly down the 
 stream of time, embodying the great part our city 
 played for hundreds of years in the history of our 
 nation I may say of the Anglo-Saxon race." 
 
 "I shouldn't, if I were you," said Brother Copas, 
 "not even to please Mr. Bamberger. ... As a mat- 
 ter of fact, I had guessed your object to be something 
 of the sort," he added dryly. 
 
 "As you may suppose and as, indeed, is but 
 proper in Merchester special stress will be laid 
 throughout on the ecclesiastical side of the story: 
 the influence of Mother Church, permeating and at 
 every turn informing our national life." 
 
 " But you said a moment ago that you were leaving 
 out the Reformation." 
 
 "We seek rather to illustrate the continuity of her 
 influence." 
 
 Brother Copas took snuff. 
 
 "You must not think, however," pursued the 
 Chaplain, " that we are giving the thing a sectarian 
 trend. On the contrary, we are taking great care to 
 avoid it. Our appeal is to one and all: to the unify- 
 ing civic sense and, through that, to the patriotic. 
 Several prominent Nonconformists have already 
 joined the Committee; indeed, Alderman Chope 
 204
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 who, as you know, is a Baptist, but has a remarkably 
 fine presence has more than half consented to im- 
 personate Alfred the Great. If further proof be 
 needed, I may tell you that, in view of the coming 
 Pan-Anglican Conference, the Committee has pro- 
 visionally resolved to divide the proceeds (if any) be- 
 tween the British and Foreign Bible Society and the 
 Society for the Propagation of the Gospel." 
 
 "Ah!" murmured Brother Copas, maliciously quot- 
 ing Falstaff . " ' It was alway yet the trick of our 
 English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it 
 too common.' " 
 
 The Chaplain did not hear. 
 
 "I earnestly hope," said he, "you will let me pro- 
 pose you for my Committee." 
 
 "I would not miss it for worlds," said Brother 
 Copas gravely. 
 
 He had disjointed and packed up his rod by this 
 time, and the two were walking back towards St. 
 Hospital. 
 
 "You relieve me more than I can say. Your help 
 will be invaluable." 
 
 Brother Copas was apparently deaf to this compli- 
 ment. ' 
 
 " You '11 excuse me," he said after a moment, 
 
 "but I gather that the whole scheme must be well 
 
 under weigh, since you have arrived at allocating the 
 
 proceeds. Experience tells me that all amateurs 
 
 205
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 start with wanting to act something; when they see 
 that desire near to realisation, and not before, they 
 cast about for the charity which is to deserve their 
 efforts. . . . May I ask what part you have chosen ?" 
 
 " I had thoughts of Alberic de Blanchminster, in an 
 Episode of the ' Founding of St. Hospital.' " 
 
 "Alberic de Blanchminster?" 
 
 They had reached the outer court of the hospital, 
 and Brother Copas, halting to take snuff, eyed the 
 Chaplain as if taking his measure. 
 
 "But the Committee, in compliment to my inches, 
 are pressing me to take William the Conqueror," 
 said Mr. Colt almost bashfully. 
 
 "I too should advise it, if we are to adhere to his- 
 tory; though, to be sure, from the sole mention of 
 him in the chronicle, our founder, Alberic, appears to 
 have been a sportsman. 'Nam, quodam die, quia 
 perdiderat accipitum suum cum erat sub divo, detrexit 
 sibi bracas et posteriora nuda ostendit caelo in signum 
 opprobrii et convitii atque derisionis.' You remem- 
 ber the passage." 
 
 He paused mischievously, knowing well enough 
 that the Chaplain would laugh, pretending to have 
 followed the Latin. Sure enough, Mr. Colt laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 "About William the Conqueror, though 
 
 But at this moment Corona came skipping through 
 the archway. 
 
 206
 
 PUPPETS 
 
 "Uncle Copas!" she hailed, the vault echoing to 
 her childish treble. "You look as though you had 
 mistaken Mr. Colt for a visitor, and were telling him 
 all about the history of the place. Oh! I know that 
 you never go the round with visitors; but seeing it 's 
 only me and Timmy look at him, please! He 's 
 been made a Beauchamp Brother, not half an hour 
 ago. If only you 'd be guide to us for once, and 
 make him feel his privileges. ... I dare say Mr. 
 Colt won't mind coming too," she wound up tactfully. 
 
 "Shall we?" suggested the Chaplain, after asking 
 and receiving permission to inspect the doll. 
 
 "Confound it!" muttered Brother Copas to him- 
 self. " I cannot even begin to enjoy a fool nowadays 
 but that blessed child happens along to rebuke me." 
 
 Aloud he said 
 
 "If you command, little one. . . . But where do 
 we begin ? " 
 
 "At the beginning." Corona took charge of him, 
 with a nod at the Chaplain. "We're pilgrims, all 
 four of us, home from the Holy Land; and we start 
 by knocking up Brother Manby and just perishing 
 for a drink." 
 
 207
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE PERVIGILIUM 
 
 "'NOW learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 
 loved, love anew! 
 It is Spring, it is chorussing Spring: 'tis the birthday of 
 
 earth and for you ! 
 It is Spring; and the Loves and the birds wing together, 
 
 and woo to accord 
 Where the bough to the rain has unbraided her locks as a 
 
 bride to her lord. 
 For she walks She our Lady, our Mistress of Wedlock, 
 
 the woodlands atween, 
 And the bride-bed she weaves them, with myrtle enlacing, 
 
 with curtains of green. 
 Look, list ye the law of Dione, aloft and enthroned in 
 
 the blue: 
 Now learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 
 loved, love anew ! ' 
 
 H'm, h'm tolerable only ! 'Aloft and established 
 
 in blue' is that better?" 
 
 "Uncle Copas, whatever are you doing?" 
 Corona looked up from her page of irregular verbs, 
 
 and across to her preceptor as he sat muttering and 
 
 scribbling. 
 
 208
 
 THE PERVIGILIUM 
 
 "The idlest thing in the world, child. Trans- 
 lating." 
 
 " But you told me that next week, if I learned these 
 verbs, you would let me begin to translate." 
 
 "To be sure I did. You must go on translating 
 and translating until, like me, you ought to know 
 better. Then you throw it all away." 
 
 "I suppose I shall understand, one of these fine 
 days," sighed Corona. " But, uncle, you won't mind 
 my asking a question? I really do want to find out 
 about these things. . . . And I really do want to 
 learn Latin, ever since you said it was the only way 
 to find out all that St. Hospital means." 
 
 "Did I say that? I ought, of course, to have said 
 that Latin was worth learning for its own sake." 
 
 "I guess," said Corona sagely, "you thought you 'd 
 take the likeliest way with me." 
 
 "O woman! woman! . . . But what was your 
 question?" 
 
 "Sometimes I wake early and lie in bed thinking. 
 I was thinking, only yesterday morning, if people 
 are able to put into English all that was ever written 
 in Latin, why don't they do it and save other people 
 the trouble?" 
 
 "Now I suppose," said Brother Copas, "that in 
 the United States of America land of labour-saving 
 appliances that is just how it would strike every- 
 one?" 
 
 209
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 He knew that this would nettle her. But, looking 
 up hotly, she caught his smile and laughed. 
 
 "Well, but why?" she demanded. 
 
 " Because the more it was the same thing the more 
 it would be different. There 's only one way with 
 Latin and Greek. You must let 'em penetrate: soak 
 'em into yourself, get 'em into your nature slowly, 
 through the pores of the skin." 
 
 "It sounds like sitting in a bath." 
 
 "That's just it. It's a baptism first and a bath 
 afterwards; but the more it 's a bath, the more you 
 remember it 's a baptism." 
 
 "I guess you have that right, though I don't 
 follow," Corona admitted. " There 's something in 
 Latin makes you proud. Only yesterday I was gas- 
 sing to three girls about knowing amo, amas, amat; 
 and, next thing, you '11 say, ' I 'd like you to know 
 Ovid,' and I '11 say, ' Mr. Ovid, I 'm pleased to have 
 met you' like what happens in the States when you 
 shake hands with a professor. All the same, I don't 
 see what there is in amo, amas, amat to make the gas." 
 
 "Wait till you come to eras amet qui nunquam 
 amavit." 
 
 "Is that what you were translating?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then translate it for me, please." 
 
 "You shall construe for yourself. Cras means 'to- 
 morrow.' Amct 
 
 210
 
 THE PERVIGILIUM 
 
 " That 's the present subjunctive. Let me see 
 ' he may love.'" 
 
 "Try again." 
 
 "Or 'let him love.'" 
 
 "Right. 'To-morrow let him love.' Quif" 
 
 "'Who.'" 
 
 " Nunquam?" 
 
 "'Never '-I know that too." 
 
 " Amavit f" 
 
 "Perfect, active, third person singular 'he has 
 loved.' " 
 
 " Qui being the subject " 
 
 ' ' Who never has loved.' " 
 
 "Right as ninepence again. 'To-morrow let him 
 love who has never loved.' " 
 
 "But," objected Corona, "it seems so easy! and 
 here you have been for quite half an hour muttering 
 and shaking your head over it, and taking you can't 
 think what a lot of nasty snuff." 
 
 "Have I?" Brother Copas sought for his watch. 
 "Heavens, child! The hour has struck these ten 
 minutes ago. Why didn't you remind me?" 
 
 "Because I thought 'twouldn't be manners. But, 
 of course, if I 'd known you were wasting your time, 
 and over anything so easy " 
 
 "Not quite so easy as you suppose, miss. To be- 
 gin with, the original is in verse; a late Latin poem in 
 a queer metre, and by whom written nobody knows. 
 211
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 But you are quite right about my wasting my time. 
 . . . What troubles me is that I have been wasting 
 yours, when you ought to have been out at play in the 
 sun." 
 
 "Please don't mention that," said Corona politely. 
 "It has been fun enough watching you frowning and 
 tapping your fingers, and writing something down 
 and scratching it out the next moment. What is it 
 all about, Uncle Copas?" 
 
 " It er is called the Pervigilium Vcneris ; that 's 
 to say The Vigil of Venus. But I suppose that con- 
 veys nothing to you?" 
 
 He thrust his spectacles high on his forehead and 
 smiled at her vaguely across the table. 
 
 "Of course it doesn't. I don't know what a Vigil 
 means; or Venus whether it 's a person or a place; 
 or why the Latin is late, as you call it. Late for 
 what?" 
 
 Brother Copas laughed dryly. 
 
 " Late for me, let 's say. Didn't I tell you I was 
 wasting my time? And Venus is the goddess of 
 Love: some day alas the day! you '11 be proud to 
 make her acquaintance. . . . Cras amet qui nun- 
 quam amavit." 
 
 "Perhaps if you read it to me " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No, child: the thing is late in half a dozen differ- 
 ent ways. The young, whom it understands, cannot 
 212
 
 THE PERVIGILIUM 
 
 understand it: the old, who arrive at understand- 
 ing, look after it, a thing lost. Go, dear: don't let 
 me waste your time as well as an old man's." 
 
 But when she had gone he sat on and wasted an- 
 other hour in translating 
 
 " Time was that a rain-cloud begat her, impregning the 
 heave of the deep. 
 
 Twixt hooves of sea-horses a-scatter, stampeding the dol- 
 phins as sheep, 
 
 Lo! born of that bridal Dione, rainbowed and bespent of 
 its dew: 
 
 Now learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 loved, love anew! 
 
 "She, she, with her gem-dripping finger enamels the wreath 
 of the year; 
 
 She, she, when the maid-bud is nubile and swelling, winds- 
 whispers ancar, 
 
 Disguising her voice in the Zephyr's 'So secret the bed! 
 and thou shy f 
 
 She, she, when the midsummer night is a-hush draws the 
 dew from on high; 
 
 Dew bright with the tears of its origin, dew with its weight 
 on the bough, 
 
 Misdoubting and clinging and trembling 'Now, now 
 must I fall f Is it now f" 
 
 Brother Copas pushed the paper from him. 
 "What folly is this," he mused, "that I, who have 
 always scoffed at translations, sit here trying to trans- 
 213
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 late this most untranslatable thing? Pah! Matthew 
 Arnold was a great man, and he stood up to lecture 
 the University of Oxford on translating Homer. He 
 proved excellently well that Homer was rapid; that 
 Homer was plain and direct; that Homer was noble. 
 He took translation after translation, and proved 
 proved beyond doubting that each translator had 
 failed in this or in that; this or that being alike essen- 
 tial. Then, having worked out his sum, he sat down 
 and translated a bit or two of Homer to encourage us, 
 and the result was mere bosh. 
 
 "The truth being, he is guilty of a tomfoolery 
 among principles at the start. If by any chance we 
 could, in English, find the right way to translate 
 Homer, why should we waste it on translating him? 
 We had a hundred times better be writing Epics of 
 our own. 
 
 "It cannot be done. If it could, it ought not. 
 . . . The only way of getting at Homer is to soak 
 oneself in him. The average Athenian was soaked 
 in him as the average Englishman is in the Authorised 
 Version of the Psalms. . . . 
 
 "Yet I sit here, belying all my principles, attempt- 
 ing to translate a thing more difficult than Homer. 
 
 "It was she, this child, set me going upon it!" 
 
 Brother Copas pulled the paper towards him again. 
 By the end of another hour he had painfully achieved 
 this: 
 
 214
 
 THE PERVIGILIUM 
 
 "'Go, maidens,' Our Lady commands, 'while the myrtle is 
 
 green in the grove, 
 Take the Boy to your escort.' But 'Ah!' cry the maidens, 
 
 'What trust is in Love 
 Keeping holiday too, while he weareth his archery, tools 
 
 of his trade f ' 
 'Go: he lays tJiem aside, an apprentice released you may 
 
 wend unafraid: 
 See, I bid him disarm, he disarms. Mother-naked I bid 
 
 him to go, 
 And he goes mother-naked. What flame can he shoot 
 
 without arrow or bowf 
 Yet beware ye of Cupid, ye maidens! Beware most of 
 
 all when he charms 
 As a child: for the more he runs naked, the more he's a 
 
 strong man-at-arms' " 
 
 215
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 I MUST not overload these slight pages by chronicling 
 at length how Merchester caught and developed the 
 Pageant fever. But to Mr. Colt must be given his 
 share of the final credit. He worked like a horse, 
 no doubt of it; spurred constantly on his tender 
 side his vanity by the hard riding of Mr. Julius 
 Bamberger, M.P. He pioneered the movement. He 
 (pardon this riot of simile and metaphor) cut a way 
 through the brushwood, piled the first faggots, ap- 
 plied the torch, set the heather afire. He canvassed 
 the Bishop, the Dean and Chapter, the Sunday Schools, 
 the Church Lads' Brigade, the Girls' Friendly So- 
 ciety, the Boy Scouts. He canvassed the tradespeo- 
 ple, the professional classes, the widowed and maiden 
 ladies resident around the Close. 
 
 In all these quarters he met with success varying, 
 indeed, but on the whole gratifying. But the problem 
 was, how to fan the flame to reach and take hold of 
 more seasoned timber? opulent citizens, county mag- 
 nates; men who, once committed, would not retract; 
 ponderable subscribers to the Guarantee Fund; 
 neither tinder nor brushwood, but logs to receive the 
 216
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 fire and retain it in a solid core. For weeks, for a 
 couple of months, the flame took no hold of these: 
 it reached them only to die down and disappoint. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Isidore, during this time, the least 
 part of our Chaplain's trial. Mr. Julius might flat- 
 ter, proclaiming him a born organiser: but this was 
 small consolation when Mr. Isidore (an artist by 
 temperament) stamped and swore over every small 
 hitch. 
 
 " Sobscribtions ? Zat is your affaire, whad the 
 devil!" 
 
 Or again: "Am I a dog to be bozzered by your 
 General Committees or your Influenzial Batrons? 
 . . . You wandt a Bageant, heinf Var'y well, I 
 brovide it: I will mek a sogcess. Go to h 11 for 
 your influenzial patrons: or go to Julius. He can 
 lick ze boot, not I!" 
 
 On the other hand, Mr. Julius, while willing enough 
 to spend money for which he foresaw a satisfactory 
 return, had no mind to risk it until assured of the 
 support of local "Society." He could afford some 
 thousands of pounds better than a public fiasco. 
 
 "We must have the County behind us," he kept 
 chanting. 
 
 Afterwards, looking back on the famous Merchester 
 
 Pageant, Mr. Colt accurately dated its success from 
 
 the hour when he called on Lady Shaftesbury and 
 
 enlisted her to open the annual Sale of Work of the 
 
 217
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Girls' Friendly Society. Sir John Shaftesbury, some- 
 what late in life, had married a wife many years his 
 junior; a dazzling beauty, a dashing horse-woman, 
 and moreover a lady who, having spent the years of her 
 eligible maidenhood largely among politicians and 
 racehorses, had acquired the knack and habit of liv- 
 ing in the public eye. She adored her husband, as 
 did everyone who knew him: but life at Shaftesbury 
 Court had its longueurs even in the hunting season. 
 Sir John would (he steadily declared) as lief any day 
 go to prison as enter Parliament a reluctance to 
 which Mr. Bamberger owed his seat for Merchester. 
 Finding herself thus headed off one opportunity of 
 making tactful little public speeches, in raiments to 
 which the Press would give equal prominence, Lady 
 Shaftesbury had turned her thoughts to good work, 
 even before Mr. Colt called with his petition. 
 
 She assented to it with a very pretty grace. Her 
 speech at the Sale of Work was charming, and she 
 talked to her audience about the Empire; reminded 
 them that they were all members of one body; called 
 them her "dear Girl Friendlies": and hoped, though 
 a new-comer, in future to see a great deal more of 
 them. They applauded this passage de bon cccur, and 
 indeed pronounced the whole speech "So womanly!" 
 At its close Mr. Colt, proposing a vote of thanks, in- 
 sinuated something "anent a more ambitious under- 
 taking, in which (if we can only engage Lady Shaftes- 
 218
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 bury's active sympathy) we may realise a cherished 
 dream. I fear," proceeded Mr. Colt, "that I am a 
 sturdy beggar. I can only plead that the cause is no 
 mere local one, but in the truest sense national nay 
 imperial. For where but in the story of Merchester 
 can be found the earliest inspiration of those countless 
 deeds which won the Empire?" 
 
 Later, when Lady Shaftesbury asked to what he 
 alluded, he discoursed on the project of the Pageant 
 with dexterity and no little tact. 
 
 "What a ripping idea! . . . Now I come to re- 
 member, my husband did say casually, the other day, 
 that Mr. Bamberger had been sounding him about 
 something of the sort. But Jack's English, you 
 know, and a Whig at that. The mere notion of 
 dressing-up or play-acting makes him want to run 
 away and hide. . . . Oh, my dear sir, I know all 
 about pageants! I saw one at Warwick Castle 
 was it last year or the year before? . . . There was 
 a woman on horseback I forget what historical 
 character she represented; it wasn't Queen Elizabeth, 
 I know, and it couldn't have been Lady Godiva be- 
 cause well, because to begin with, she knew how 
 to dress. She wore a black velvet habit, with seed- 
 pearls, which sounds like Queen Henrietta Maria. 
 Anyway, everyone agreed she had a perfect seat in the 
 saddle. Is that the sort of thing 'Fair Rosamund 
 goes a-hawking with King, er, Whoever-he-was'?" 
 219
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Mr. Colt regretted that Fair Rosamund had no 
 historical connection with Merchester. . . . No, and 
 equally out of the question was Mary, Queen of Scots 
 laying her neck on the block. 
 
 "Besides, she couldn't very well do that on horse- 
 back. And Mazeppa was a man, wasn't he?" 
 
 " If," said Mr. Colt diplomatically, " we can only 
 prevail upon one or two really influential la-dies to 
 see the thing in that light, details could be arranged 
 later. We have not yet decided on the Episodes. 
 . . . But notoriously where there 's a will there 's a 
 way." 
 
 Lady Shaftesbury pondered this conversation while 
 the motor whirled her homewards. She had begun 
 to wish that Jack (as she called her lord) would strike 
 out a bolder line in county affairs, if his ambition con- 
 fined him to these. He was already (through no 
 search of his own) Chairman of the County Council, 
 and Chairman of Quarter Sessions, and was picked 
 to serve as High Sheriff next year. He ought to do 
 something to make his shrievalty memorable . . . 
 and, moreover, the Lord-Lieutenant was an old man. 
 
 In the library that evening after dinner she opened 
 fire. The small function at the Girls' Friendly had 
 been a success; but she wished to do something more 
 for Merchester " where we ought to be a real influ- 
 ence for good living as we do so close to it." 
 220
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 She added, "I hear that Mr. Bamberger's seat is 
 by no means safe, and another General Election may 
 be on us at any moment. ... I know how little you 
 like Mr. Bamberger personally: but after all, and 
 until you will consent to take his place Mr. Bamber- 
 ger stands between us and the rising tide of Socialism. 
 I was discussing this with Mr. Colt to-day." 
 
 "Who is Mr. Colt?" asked Sir John. 
 
 "You must have met him. He is Chaplain of St. 
 Hospital, and quite a personality in Merchester . . . 
 though I don't know," pursued Lady Shaftesbury, 
 musing, "that one would altogether describe him 
 as a gentleman. But ought we to be too particular 
 when the cause is at stake, and heaven knows how 
 soon the Germans will be invading us?" 
 
 The end was that Sir John, who loved his young 
 wife, gave her a free hand, of which she made the 
 most. Almost before he was aware of it, he found 
 himself Chairman of a General Committee, summon- 
 ing a Sub-Committee of Ways and Means. At the 
 first meeting he announced that his lady had con- 
 sented to set aside, throughout the winter months, 
 one day a week from hunting, and offered Shaftesbury 
 Hall as head-quarters of the Costume Committee. 
 
 Thereupon it was really astonishing with what alac- 
 rity not only the "best houses" around Merchester, 
 but the upper-middle-class (its damsels especially) 
 caught the contagion. Within a week "Are you 
 221
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Pageantising ? " or, in more condensed slang, "Do 
 you Padge?" became the stock question at all social 
 gatherings in the neighbourhood of the Close. To 
 this a stock answer would be 
 
 "Oh, I don't know! I suppose so." Here the 
 respondent would simulate a slight boredom. " One 
 will have to mix with the most impossible people, of 
 course" Lady Shaftesbury had won great popularity 
 by insisting that, in a business so truly national, no 
 class distinctions were to be drawn "but anyhow it 
 will fill up the off-days this winter." 
 
 Lady Shaftesbury herself, after some pretty de- 
 liberation, decided to enact the part of the Empress 
 Maud, and escape on horseback from King Stephen 
 of Blois. Mr. Colt and Mr. Isidore Bamberger to- 
 gether waited on Brother Copas with a request that 
 he would write the libretto for this Episode. 
 
 "But it was only last week you turned me on to 
 Episode VI King Hal and the Emperor Charles the 
 Fifth," Copas protested. 
 
 "We are hoping you will write this for us too," 
 urged Mr. Colt. " It oughtn't to take you long, you 
 know. To begin with, no one knows very much 
 about that particular period." 
 
 "The less known the better, if we may trust the 
 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. A few realistic pictures of 
 the diversions of the upper classes 
 
 "Hawking was one, I believe?" opined Mr. Colt. 
 222
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 " Yes, and another was hanging the poor by their 
 heels over a smoky fire, and yet another was shutting 
 them up in a close cell into which had been inserted 
 a few toads and adders." 
 
 "Her ladyship suggests a hawking scene, in the 
 midst of which she is surprised by King Stephen and 
 his, er, myrmidons if that be the correct term 
 
 "It is at least as old as Achilles." 
 
 "She escapes from him on horseback. ... At 
 this point she wants to know if we can introduce a 
 water-jump." 
 
 "Nothing could be easier, in a blank verse com- 
 position," assented Brother Copas gravely. 
 
 "You see, there is very little writing required. 
 Just enough dialogue to keep the thing going. . . . 
 Her ladyship is providing her own riding-habit and 
 those of her attendant ladies, for whom she has 
 chosen six of the most beautiful maidens in the neigh- 
 bourhood, quite irrespective of class. The dresses 
 are to be gorgeous." 
 
 "They will form a pleasing contrast, then, to King 
 Stephen, whose riding-breeches, as we know, 'cost 
 him but a crown/ . . . Very well, I will 'cut the 
 cackle and come to the bosses.' And you, Mr. Isi- 
 dore ? Do I read in your eye that you desire a similar 
 literary restraint in your Episode of King Hal?" 
 
 " Ach, yes," grinned Mr. Isidore. " Cut ze caggle 
 cabital! I soggest in zat Ebisode we haf a Ballet." 
 223
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "A Ballet?" 
 
 "A Ballet of Imberial Exbansion ze first English 
 discofferies ofer sea ze natives brought back in 
 brocession to mek sobmission 
 
 "Devilish pretty substitute for Thomas Cromwell 
 and the Reformation!" 
 
 "It was zere lay ze future of Englandt, hein?" 
 
 "I see," said Brother Copas thoughtfully; "pro- 
 vided you make the Ballets of our nation, you don't 
 care if your brother makes its laws." 
 
 These preparations (he noted) had a small by- 
 product pleasantly affecting St. Hospital. Mr. Colt, 
 in his anxiety to enlist the whole-hearted services 
 of the Brethren (who according to design were to 
 serve as a sort of subsidiary chorus to the Pageant, 
 appearing and reappearing, still in their antique 
 garb, in a succession of scenes supposed to extend 
 over many centuries), had suddenly taken the line 
 of being "all things to all men," and sensibly relaxed 
 the zeal of his proselytising as well as the rigour of 
 certain regulations offensive to the more Protestant 
 of his flock. 
 
 "You may growl," said Brother Copas to Brother 
 Warboise, " but this silly Pageant is bringing us more 
 peace than half a dozen Petitions." 
 
 Brother Warboise was, in fact, growling because 
 for three months and more nothing had been heard 
 of the Petition. 
 
 224
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 "You may depend," said Copas soothingly, "the 
 Bishop put the thing away in his skirt pocket and 
 forgot all about it. I happen to know that he must 
 be averse to turning out his skirt pockets, for I once 
 saw him surreptitiously smuggle away a mayonnaise 
 sandwich there. It was at a Deanery garden party; 
 and I, having been invited to hand the ices and look 
 picturesque, went on looking picturesque and pre- 
 tended not to see. ... I ought to have told you, 
 when you asked me to write it, that such was the in- 
 variable fate of my compositions." 
 
 Meanwhile, it certainly seemed that a truce had 
 been called to the internal dissensions of St. Hospital. 
 On the pageant-ground one afternoon, in the midst 
 of a very scratchy rehearsal, Brother Copas found 
 himself by chance at the Chaplain's side. The two 
 had been watching in silence for a full five minutes, 
 when he heard Mr. Colt addressing him in a tone of 
 unusual friendliness. 
 
 "Wonderful how it seems to link us up, eh?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir?" 
 
 "I was thinking, just then, of the St. Hospital 
 uniform, which you have the honour to wear. It 
 seems or Mr. Isidore has the knack of making it 
 seem the, er, foil of the whole Pageant. It outlasts 
 all the more brilliant fashions." 
 
 "Poverty, sir, is perduring. It is in everything 
 just because it is out of everything. We inherit time, 
 if not the earth." 
 
 225
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "But particularly," said Mr. Colt, "I was thinking 
 of the corporate unity it seems to give us, and to pass 
 on, through us, to the whole story of Merchester." 
 
 "Aye, we are always with you." 
 
 Afterwards Brother Copas repented that he had 
 not answered more graciously: for afterwards, look- 
 ing back, he perceived that, in some way, the Pageant 
 had actually helped to bring back a sense of " corporate 
 unity" to St. Hospital. 
 
 Even then, and for months later, he missed to 
 recognise Corona's share in it. What was she but a 
 child? 
 
 "Is it true what I hear?" asked Mrs. Royle, in- 
 tercepting him one day as he carried his plate of fast- 
 cooling meat from the kitchen. 
 
 "Probably not," said Brother Copas. 
 
 " They tell me Bonaday's daughter has been singled 
 out among all the school children Greycoats and 
 others to be Queen of the May, or something of the 
 kind, in this here Pageant." 
 
 "Yes, that is a fact." 
 
 "Oh! . . . I suppose it's part of your sneering 
 way to make little of it. 7 call it an honour to St. 
 Hospital." 
 
 "The deuce you do?" 
 
 " And what 's more," added Mrs. Royle, " she 
 mustn't let us down by appearing in rags." 
 
 "I hope we can provide against that." 
 226
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 "What I meant to say," the woman persisted, 
 "was that you men don't probably understand. If 
 there 's to be a dance, or any such caper, she '11 be 
 lifting her skirts. Well, for the credit of St. Hos- 
 pital, I 'd like to overhaul the child's undercloth- 
 ing, and see that she goes shipshape and Bristol 
 fashion." 
 
 Brother Copas thanked her. He began to perceive 
 that Mrs. Royle, that detestable woman, had her 
 good points or, at any rate, her soft spot. 
 
 It became embarrassing, though, when Mrs. Cleri- 
 hew accosted him next day with a precisely similar 
 request. 
 
 "And I might mention," added Mrs. Clerihew, 
 "that I have a lace stomacher-frill which was gove 
 to me by no less than the Aonourable Hedith, fifth 
 daughter of the second Baron Glantyre. She died 
 unmarried, previous to which she used frequently 
 to honour me with her confidence. This being a 
 historical occasion, I 'd spare it." 
 
 Yes; it was true. Corona was to be a queen, 
 among many, in the Merchester Pageant. 
 
 It all happened through Mr. Simeon. 
 
 Mr. Simeon's children had, one and all, gone for 
 
 their education to the Greycoats' School, which lies 
 
 just beyond the west end of the Cathedral. He loved 
 
 to think of them as growing up within its shadow. 
 
 227
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 . . . One Tuesday at dinner the five-year-old Agatha 
 popped out a question 
 
 "Daddy, if the Cafederal fell down while we were 
 in school, would it fall on top of us?" 
 
 "God forbid, child. But why ask such a ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Because when we went to school this morning 
 some workpeople had dug a hole, close by that end 
 quite a big pit it was. So I went near the edge to 
 look down, and one of the men said, 'Take care, 
 missy, or you '11 tumble in and be drowned.' I told 
 him that I knew better, because people couldn't 
 build cafederals on water. He told me that was the 
 way they had built ours, and he held my hand for 
 me to have a look. He was right, too. The pit was 
 half-full of water. He said that unless we looked 
 sharp the whole Cafederal would come down on 
 our heads. . . . I* don't think it's safe for me to 
 go to school any more, do you?" insinuated small 
 Agatha. 
 
 Now it chanced that Mr. Simeon had to visit the 
 Greycoats that very afternoon. He had written a 
 little play for the children boys and girls to act 
 at Christmas. It was not a play of the sort desider- 
 ated by Mrs. Simeon the sort to earn forty thousand 
 pounds in royalties; nor, to speak accurately, had 
 he written it. He had in fact patched together a few 
 artless scenes from an old Miracle Play The Life 
 228
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 of Saint Meriadoc discovered by him in the Ven- 
 ables Library; and had tinkered out some rhymes 
 (the book being a prose translation from the Breton 
 original). "A poor thing," then, and very little of 
 it his own but Miss Champernowne opined that it 
 would be a novelty, while the children enjoyed the 
 rehearsals, and looked forward to the fun of "dress- 
 ing-up." 
 
 Rehearsals were held twice a week, on Tuesdays 
 and Thursdays, in the last hour of the afternoon 
 session. This afternoon, on his way to the school, 
 Mr. Simeon found that Agatha had indeed spoken 
 truth. Five or six men were busy, digging, probing, 
 sounding, around a large hole close under the northeast 
 corner of the Lady Chapel. The foreman wore a 
 grave face, and in answer to Mr. Simeon's inquiries 
 allowed that the mischief was serious; so serious 
 that the Dean and Chapter had sent for a diver to 
 explore the foundations and report. The foreman 
 further pointed out certain ominous cracks in the 
 masonry overhead. 
 
 Just then the great clock chimed, warning Mr. 
 Simeon away. . . . But the peril of his beloved Ca- 
 thedral so haunted him that he arrived at the school- 
 door as one distraught. 
 
 Rehearsal always took place in the girls' school- 
 room, the boys coming in from their part of the 
 building to clear the desks away and arrange them 
 229
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 close along the walls. They were busy at it when he 
 entered. He saw them: but 
 
 "He heeded not his eyes 
 Were with his heart," 
 
 and that was in the Close outside ai>0i, $i\r) iv 
 TrarpiBi yaig. 
 
 From the start he allowed the rehearsal to get 
 hopelessly out of hand. The children took charge; 
 they grew more and more fractious, unruly. Miss 
 Champernowne chid them in vain. The schoolroom, 
 in fact, was a small pandemonium, when of a sudden 
 the door opened and two visitors entered Mr. Colt 
 and Mr. Isidore Bamberger. 
 
 "A ach so!" intoned Mr. Isidore, and at the 
 sound of his appalling guttural Babel hushed itself, 
 unable to compete. He inquired what was going 
 forward; was told; and within five minutes had the 
 children moving through their parts in perfect dis- 
 cipline, while with a fire of cross-questions he shook 
 Mr. Simeon back to his senses and rapidly gathered 
 the outline of the play. He terrified all. 
 
 "Bardon my interference, ma'am!" he barked, 
 addressing Miss Champernowne. " I haf a burbose." 
 
 The scene engaging the children was that of the 
 
 youthful St. Meriadoc's first school-going; where his 
 
 parents (Duke and Duchess of Brittany) call with 
 
 him upon a pedagogue, who introduces him to the 
 
 230
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 boys and girls, his fellow scholars. For a sample of 
 Mr. Simeon's version 
 
 PEDAGOGUE 
 
 "Children look on your books. 
 If there be any whispering 
 It will be great hindering, 
 And there will be knocks." 
 
 FIRST SCHOLAR (chants) 
 
 "God bless A, B and C! 
 The rest of the song is D: 
 
 That is all my lore. 
 I came late yesterday, 
 I played truant by my fay! 
 I am a foul sinner. 
 Good master, after dinner 
 I will learn more." 
 
 SECOND SCHOLAR 
 
 "E, s, t, that is est, 
 I know not what comes next " 
 
 Whilst the scholars recited thus, St. Meriadoc's 
 father and mother each with a train of attendants 
 walked up and down between the ranks "high 
 and disposedly," as became a Duke and Duchess of 
 Brittany. 
 
 Mr. Isidore of a sudden threw all into confusion 
 again. He shot out a forefinger and screamed yes, 
 positively screamed 
 
 231
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Ach! zat is ze child ze fourt' from ze end! 
 I will haf her and no ozzer you onderstandt?" 
 Here he swung about upon the Chaplain. "Ob-serf 
 how she walk! how she carry her chin! If I haf not 
 her for ze May Queen I will haf non. . . . Step vor- 
 wards, liddle one. Whad is your name?" 
 
 "Corona." 
 
 Seeing that Mr. Isidore's finger pointed at her, she 
 stepped forward, with a touch of defiance in her 
 astonishment, but fearlessly. The touch of defiance 
 helped to tilt her chin at the angle he so much ad- 
 mired. 
 
 "Cohrona zat must mean ze chrowned one. 
 Cabital! . . . You are not afraid of me, heinf" 
 
 "No," answered Corona simply, still wondering 
 what he might mean, but keeping a steady eye on 
 him. Why should she be afraid of this comic little 
 man. 
 
 "So? ... I engage you. You are to be ze May 
 Queen in ze great Merchester Bageant. . . . But 
 you must be goot and attend how I drill you. Ozzer- 
 wise I dismees you." 
 
 It appeared that Mr. Isidore had spent the after- 
 noon with Mr. Colt, hunting the schools of Merchester 
 in search of a child to suit his fastidious require- 
 ments. He had two of the gifts of genius unweary- 
 ing patience in the search, unerring swiftness in the 
 choice. 
 
 232
 
 MERCHESTER PREPARES 
 
 Mr. Simeon, the rehearsal over, walked home 
 heavily. On his way he paused to study the pit, 
 and look up from it to the threatened mass of ma- 
 sonry. "Not in my time, Lord!" 
 
 And yet 
 
 "From low to high doth dissolution climb, 
 And sink from high to low along a scale 
 Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail . . . 
 Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear 
 The longest date . . . drop like the tower sublime 
 Of yesterday, which royally did wear 
 His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain 
 Some casual shout that broke the silent air 
 Or the unimaginable touch of Time." 
 
 But Corona, breaking away from her playfellows 
 and gaining the road to St. Hospital, skipped as she 
 ran homeward, treading clouds of glory. 
 
 233
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 "SHE has behaved very naughtily," said Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 " I don't understand it at all," sighed Brother 
 Bonaday. 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 " It 's not like her, you see." 
 
 " It was a most extraordinary outburst. . . . Either 
 the child has picked up some bad example at school, 
 to copy it (and you will remember I always doubted 
 that her sex gets any good of schooling) 
 
 " But," objected Brother Bonaday, " it was you who 
 insisted on sending her." 
 
 "So I did in self-defence. If we had not done 
 our best the State would have done its worst, and 
 put her into an institution where one underpaid 
 female grapples with sixty children in a class, and 
 talks all the time. Now we didn't want Corona to 
 acquire the habit of talking all the time." Here 
 Brother Copas dropped a widower's sigh. "In fact, 
 it has hitherto been no small part of her charm that 
 she seldom or never spoke out of her turn." 
 
 "It has been a comfort to have her company," 
 234
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 put in Brother Bonaday, eager to say a good word 
 for the culprit. 
 
 " She spoke out of her turn just now," said Brother 
 Copas sternly. "Her behaviour to Nurse Turner 
 was quite atrocious. . . . Now either she has picked 
 this up at school, or the thought occurs to me she 
 has been loafing around the laundry, gossiping with 
 the like of Mrs. Royle and Mrs. Clerihew, and letting 
 their evil communications corrupt her good manners. 
 This seems to me the better guess, because the women 
 in the laundry are always at feud with the nurses; it 's 
 endemic there: and 'a nasty two-faced spy' smacks, 
 though faintly, of the wash-tub. In my hearing 
 Mrs. Clerihew has accused Nurse Branscome of 
 'carrying tales.' 'A nasty two-faced spy' the child 
 was using those very worlds when we surprised her, 
 and the Lord knows what worse before we happened 
 on the scene." 
 
 "Nurse Turner would not tell, and so we have no 
 right to speculate." 
 
 " That 's true. ... I '11 confine myself to what 
 we overheard. Now when a chit of a child stands up 
 and hurls abuse of that kind at a woman well old 
 enough to be her mother, two things have to be done. 
 . . . We must get at the root of this deterioration in 
 Corona, but first of all she must be punished. The 
 question is, Which of us will undertake it? You 
 
 have the natural right, of course " 
 
 235
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Brother Bonaday winced. 
 
 "No, no " he protested. 
 
 " I should have said, the natural obligation. But 
 you are frail just now, and I doubt if you are equal 
 to it." 
 
 "Copas! . . . You 're not proposing to whip her?" 
 
 Brother Copas chuckled grimly. But that the 
 child was in the next room, possibly listening, he 
 might have laughed aloud. 
 
 "Do they whip girls?" he asked. "I used to 
 find the whipping of boys disgusting enough. . . . 
 I had an assistant master once, a treasure, who re- 
 mained with me six years, and then left for no reason 
 but that I could not continue to pay him. I liked 
 him so much that one day, after flogging a boy in hot 
 blood, and while (as usual) feeling sick with the re- 
 vulsion of it, I then and there resolved that, however 
 much this trade might degrade me, this Mr. Simcox 
 should be spared the degradation whilst in my em- 
 ploy. I went to his class-room and asked to have a 
 look at his punishment-book. He answered that he 
 kept none. ' But,' said I, * when you first came to 
 me didn't I give you a book, and expressly command 
 you, whenever you punished a boy, to write an entry, 
 giving the boy's name, the nature of his offence, and 
 the number of strokes with which you punished him?' 
 'You did, sir,' said Simcox, 'and I have lost it.' 
 'Lost it!' said I. 'You but confirm me in my de- 
 236
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 cision that henceforth, when any boy in this school 
 needs caning, I will do it with my own hands.' ' Sir/ 
 he replied, 'you have done that for these five years. 
 Forgive me, but I was pleased to find that you never 
 asked to see the book; for I really couldn't bring 
 myself to flog a boy merely for the sake of writing up 
 an entry/ In short, that man was a born school- 
 master, and almost dispensed with punishments, even 
 the slightest." 
 
 "He ruled the boys by kindness, I suppose?" 
 
 " He wasn't quite such a fool." 
 
 "Then what was his secret?" 
 
 "Bad temper. They held him in a holy terror; 
 and it 's all the queerer because he wasn't even just." 
 
 Brother Bonaday shook his head. 
 
 "I don't understand," he said; "but if you be- 
 lieve so little in punishment, why are we proposing 
 to punish Corona?" 
 
 " Obviously, my dear fellow, because we can find 
 no better way. The child must not be suffered to 
 grow up into a termagant you will admit that, I 
 hope? . . . Very well, then: feeble guardians that 
 we are, me must do our best." 
 
 He knocked at the bedroom door and, after a 
 moment, entered. Corona sat on the edge of her bed, 
 dry-eyed, hugging Timothy to her breast. 
 
 "Corona " 
 
 237
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Copas?" 
 
 "You have been extremely naughty, and probably 
 know that you have to be punished." 
 
 " I dare say it 's the best you can do," said Corona, 
 after weighing this address or seeming to do so. The 
 answer so exactly tallied with the words he had 
 spoken a moment ago that Brother Copas could not 
 help exclaiming 
 
 "Ah! You overheard us, just now?" 
 
 "I may have my faults," said Corona coldly, can- 
 didly, "but I am not a listener." 
 
 "I I beg your pardon," stammered Brother 
 Copas, somewhat abashed. "But the fact remains 
 that your behaviour to Nurse Turner has been most 
 disrespectful, and your language altogether unbe- 
 coming. You have given your father and me a great 
 shock: and I am sure you did not wish to do that." 
 
 " I 'm miserable enough, if that 's what you mean," 
 the child confessed, still hugging her golliwog and 
 staring with haggard eyes at the window. "But if 
 you want me to say that I 'm sorry 
 
 "That is just what I want you to say." 
 
 " Well, then, I can't. . . . Nurse Turner 's a beast 
 a beast a BEAST!" 
 
 Corona's face whitened, and her voice shrilled 
 higher at each repetition. 
 
 " She hates Branny like poison, and I hate her . 
 . . . There! And now you must take and pun- 
 238
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 ish me as much as you please. What's it going 
 to be?" 
 
 She rocked her small body as she looked up with 
 straight eyes, awaiting sentence. 
 
 "You are to go to bed at once, and without any 
 supper," said Brother Copas, keeping his voice steady 
 on the words he loathed to utter. 
 
 Again Corona seemed to weigh them. 
 
 "That seems fair enough," she decided. "Are 
 you going to lock me in?" 
 
 "That had not occurred to me." 
 
 "You 'd better," she advised. "And take the key 
 away in your pocket. . . . Is that all, Uncle Copas?" 
 
 "That is all, Corona. But as for taking the key, 
 you know that I would far sooner trust to your hon- 
 our." 
 
 "You can trust to that, right enough," said she, 
 getting off the edge of the bed. "I was thinking of 
 Daddy. . . . Good night, Uncle Copas ! if you don't 
 mind, I am going to undress." 
 
 Brother Copas withdrew. He shut and locked the 
 door firmly, and made a pretence, by rattling the 
 key, of withdrawing it from the lock. But his nerve 
 failed him, and he could not actually withdraw it. 
 "Suppose the child should be taken ill in the night: 
 or suppose that her nerve breaks down, and she cries 
 for her father. ... It might kill him if he could 
 not open the door instantly. Or, again, supposing 
 239
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 that she holds out until he has undressed and gone 
 to bed ? He will start up at the first sound and rush 
 across the open quadrangle Lord knows if he would 
 wait to put on his dressing-gown to get the key 
 from me. In his state of health, and with these 
 autumn nights falling chilly, he would take his 
 death." 
 
 So Brother Copas contented himself with turning 
 the key in the wards and pointing to it. 
 
 " She is going to bed," he whispered. " Supperless, 
 you understand. . . . We must show ourselves stern: 
 it will be the better for her in the end, and some day 
 she will thank us." 
 
 Brother Bonaday eyed the door sadly. 
 
 "To be sure, we must be stern," he echoed. As 
 for being thanked for this severity, it crossed his 
 mind that the thanks must come quickly, or he would 
 probably miss them. But he muttered again, "To 
 be sure to be sure!" as Brother Copas tiptoed 
 away and left him. 
 
 On his way back to his lonely rooms, Brother Copas 
 met and exchanged "Good evenings" with Nurse 
 Branscome. 
 
 "You are looking grave," she said. 
 
 "You might better say I am looking like a humbug 
 and a fool. I have just been punishing that child 
 sending her to bed supperless. Now call me the ass 
 that I am." 
 
 240
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 "Why, what has Corona been doing?" 
 
 "Does it matter?" he snarled, turning away. 
 "She has been naughty; and the only way with 
 naughty children is to be brutal." 
 
 " I expect you have made a mess of it," said Nurse 
 Branscome. 
 
 "I am sure I have," said Brother Copas. 
 
 Corona undressed herself very deliberately; and, 
 seating herself again on the edge of the bed, as de- 
 liberately undressed Timothy and clothed him for 
 the night in his pajamas. 
 
 "I am sorry, dear, that you should suffer. . . . 
 But I can't tell what isn't true, not even for your 
 sake; and I can't take back what I said. Nurse 
 Turner is a beast, if we starve for saying it which," 
 added Corona reflectively, "I don't suppose we shall. 
 I couldn't answer back properly on Uncle Copas, 
 because when you say a thing to grown-ups they look 
 wise and ask you to prove it, and if you can't 
 you look silly. But Nurse Turner is a beast. . . . 
 Tinny! let's lie down and try to get to sleep. But 
 Oh, it is miserable to have all the world against 
 us." 
 
 She remembered that she was omitting to say her 
 prayers, and knelt down; but after a moment or two 
 rose again. 
 
 " It 's no use, God," she said. " I 'm very sorry, 
 241
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 and I wouldn't tell it to anyone but You and per- 
 haps Uncle Copas, if he was different: but I can't 
 say 'forgive us our trespasses' when I can't abide 
 the woman." 
 
 She had already pulled down the blind. Before 
 creeping to bed she drew the curtains to exclude the 
 lingering daylight. As she did so, she made sure that 
 her window was hasped wide. Her bedroom (on the 
 ground floor) looked out upon a small cabbage-plot 
 in which Brother Bonaday, until warned by the 
 doctor, had employed his leisure. It was a wilder- 
 ness now. 
 
 As a rule Corona slept with her lattice wide to the 
 fullest extent: and at any time (upon an alarm of 
 fire, for example) she could have slipped her small 
 body out through the opening with ease. To-night 
 she drew the frame of the window closer than usual, 
 and pinned it on the perforated bar; so close that 
 her small body could not squeeze through it even if 
 she should walk in her sleep. She was a conscientious 
 child. She only forbore to close it tight because it 
 was wicked to go without fresh air. 
 
 She stole into bed and curled herself up comfort- 
 ably. For some reason or other the touch of the cold 
 pillow drew a tear or two. But after a very little 
 while she slept, still hugging her doll. 
 
 There was no sound to disturb her; no sound but 
 the soft dripping, now and again, of a cinder in the 
 242
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 grate before which Brother Bonaday sat, with misery 
 in his heart. 
 
 "Corona!" 
 
 The voice was low and tremulous. It followed on 
 the sound of a loud sneeze. Either the voice or the 
 sneeze (or both) aroused her, and she sat up in bed 
 with a start. Like Chaucer's Canace, of sleep 
 
 "She was full mesurable, as women be." 
 
 "Corona!" 
 
 "Is that you, Daddy?" she asked, jumping out 
 of bed and tip-toeing to the door. 
 
 What the hour was she could not tell: but she 
 knew it must be late, for a shaft of moonlight fell 
 through a gap in the window-curtains and shone along 
 the floor. 
 
 "Are you ill? ... Shall I run and call them up at 
 the Nunnery?" 
 
 "I was listening. ... I have been listening here 
 for some time, and I could not hear you breathing." 
 
 " Dear Daddy ... is that all ? Go back to your 
 bed it 's wicked of you to be out of it, with the 
 nights turning chilly as they are. I '11 go back to 
 mine and try to snore, if that 's any comfort." 
 
 "I haven't been to bed at all. I couldn't. . . . 
 Corona!" 
 
 "You are not to turn the key!" she commanded 
 243
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 in a whisper, for he was fumbling with it. " Uncle 
 Copas pretended he was taking it away with him: 
 or that was what I understood, and if he breaks an 
 understanding it 's his affair." 
 
 "I I thought, dear you might be hungry." 
 
 "Well, and suppose I am?" 
 
 Corona, now she came to think of it, was ravenous. 
 
 "I've a slice of bread here, and a cold sausage. 
 If you '11 wrap yourself up and come out, we can 
 toast them both: the fire is still clear." 
 
 "As if I should think of it! . . . And it 's lucky 
 for you, Daddy, the key 's on your side of the door. 
 You ought to be ashamed of yourself, out of bed at 
 what is the time?" 
 
 "Past ten o'clock." 
 
 "You are not telling me a fib, I hope, about keep- 
 ing up a clear fire?" said Corona sternly. 
 
 "If you like, I will open the door just a little: then 
 you can see for yourself." 
 
 " Cer tainly not. But if you 've been looking 
 after yourself properly, why did you sneeze just now?" 
 
 " 'Sneeze?' I never sneezed." 
 
 Silence for a moment. 
 
 "Somebody sneezed ... I 'stinctly heard it," 
 Corona insisted. "Now I come to think, it sound- 
 ed " 
 
 There was another pause while, with a question in 
 her eye, she turned and stared at the casement. Then, 
 244
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 as surmise grew to certainty, a little laugh bubbled 
 within her. She stepped to the window. 
 
 "Good night, Uncle Copas!" she called out mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 No one answered from the moonlit cabbage-plot. 
 In fact, Brother Copas, beating his retreat, at that 
 moment struck his staff against a disused watering- 
 can, and missed to hear her. 
 
 He objurgated his clumsiness and went on, picking 
 his way more cautiously. 
 
 " The question is," he murmured, " how I 'm to 
 extort confession from Bonaday to-morrow without 
 letting him suspect. ..." 
 
 While he pondered this, Brother Copas stumbled 
 straight upon another shock. The small gate of the 
 cabbage-plot creaked on its hinge . . . and behold, 
 in the pathway ahead stood a woman! In the moon- 
 light he recognised her. 
 
 "Nurse Branscome!" 
 
 "Brother Copas! . . . Why, what in the world 
 are you doing at this hour and here, of all 
 places." 
 
 "Upon my word," retorted Copas, "I might ask 
 you the same question. . . . But on second thoughts 
 I prefer to lie boldly and confess that I have been steal- 
 ing cabbages." 
 
 "Is that a cabbage you are hiding under your 
 gown ? " 
 
 245
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "It might be, if this place hadn't been destitute of 
 cabbages these twelve months and more. . . . Par- 
 don my curiosity: but is that also a cabbage you are 
 hiding under your cloak?" 
 
 "It might be But here laughter quiet 
 
 laughter got the better of them both. 
 
 "I might have known it," said Brother Copas, re- 
 covering himself. "Her father is outside her door 
 abjectly beseeching her to be as naughty as she pleases, 
 if only she won't be unhappy. And she woman- 
 like is using her advantage to nag him. 
 
 "'But if ne'er so fast you wall her ' 
 
 Danae, immured, yet charged a lover for admission. 
 Corona, imprisoned, takes it out of her father for 
 speaking through the keyhole." 
 
 "You would not tell me what the child did, that 
 you two have punished her." 
 
 "Would I not? Well, she was abominably rude 
 to Nurse Turner this afternoon went to the extent 
 of calling her 'a nasty two-faced spy.'" 
 
 "Was that all?" asked Nurse Branscome. 
 
 "It was enough, surely? ... As a matter 'of fact 
 she went further, even dragging your name into the 
 fray. She excused herself by saying that she had a 
 right to hate Nurse Turner because Nurse Turner 
 hated you." 
 
 246
 
 NAUGHTINESS, AND A SEQUEL 
 
 " Well, that at any rate was true enough." 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 " I mean, it is true enough that Nurse Turner hates 
 me, and would like to get me out of St. Hospital," 
 said Nurse Branscome quietly. 
 
 "You never told me of this." 
 
 "Why should I have troubled to tell? I only tell 
 it now because the child has guessed it." 
 
 Brother Copas leaned on his staff pondering a sud- 
 den suspicion. 
 
 "Look here," he said; "those anonymous let- 
 
 "I have not," said Nurse Branscome, "a doubt 
 that Nurse Turner wrote them." 
 
 "You have never so much as hinted at this." 
 
 "I had no right. I have no right, even now; hav- 
 ing no evidence. You would not show me the letter, 
 remember." 
 
 " It was too vile." 
 
 "As if I a nurse cannot look at a thing because 
 it is vile! ... I supposed that you had laid the mat- 
 ter aside and forgotten it." 
 
 "On the contrary, I have been at some pains 
 hitherto idle to discover the writer. . . . Does Nurse 
 Turner, by the way, happen to start her W's with a 
 small curly flourish?" 
 
 " That you can discover for yourself. The Nurses' 
 Diary lies in the Nunnery, in the outer office. We 
 247
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 both enter up our 'cases' in it, and it is open for any- 
 one to inspect." 
 
 " I will inspect it to-morrow," promised Brother Co- 
 pas. " Now this Hospital being full of evil tongues 
 I cannot well ask you to eat an al fresco supper with 
 me, though " he twinkled " I suspect we both carry 
 the constituents of a frugal one under our cloaks." 
 
 They passed through an archway into the great 
 quadrangle, and there, having wished one another 
 good night, went their ways; she mirthfully, he mirth- 
 fully and thoughtfully too. 
 
 Next morning Brother Copas visited the outer office 
 of the Nunnery and carefully inspected the Nurses' 
 Diary. Since every week contains a Wednesday, 
 there were capital Ws in plenty. 
 
 He took tracings of half a dozen and, armed with 
 these, sought Nurse Turner in her private room. 
 
 " I think," said he, holding out the anonymous letter, 
 "you may have some light to throw on this. I have 
 the Master's authority to bid you attend on him and 
 explain it." 
 
 He fixed the hour 2 p.m. But shortly after mid- 
 day Nurse Turner had taken a cab (ordered by tele- 
 phone) and was on her way to the railway station with 
 her boxes. 
 
 248
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 "I AM not," said the Bishop, "putting this before 
 you as an argument. I have lived and mixed with 
 men long enough to know that they are usually per- 
 suaded by other things than argument, sometimes by 
 better. ... I am merely suggesting a modus Vivendi 
 shall we call it a truce of God? until we have all 
 done our best against a common peril: for, as your 
 Petition proves you to be earnest Churchmen, so I 
 may conclude that to all of us in this room our Cathe- 
 dral stands for a cherished monument of the Church, 
 however differently we may interpret its history." 
 
 He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze travelling 
 from one to another with a winning smile. All the 
 petitioners were gathered before him in the Master's 
 library. They stood respectfully, each with his hat 
 and staff. At first sight you might have thought he 
 was dismissing them on a pilgrimage. 
 
 Master Blanchminster sat on the Bishop's right, 
 with Mr. Colt close behind him; Mr. Simeon at the 
 end of the table, taking down a verbatim report in 
 his best shorthand. 
 
 249
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " I tell you frankly," pursued the Bishop, " I come 
 rather to appeal for concord than to discuss principles 
 of observance. If you compel me to pronounce on 
 the points raised, I will take evidence and endeavour 
 to deal justly upon it: but I suggest to you that the 
 happiness of such a Society as this is better furthered 
 by a spirit of sweet reasonableness than by any man's 
 insistence on his just rights/ 
 
 " Fiat coelum ruat justitia," muttered Brother Copas. 
 "But the man is right nevertheless." 
 
 "Principles," said the Bishop, "are hard to dis- 
 cuss, justice often impossible to deal. . . . 'Yes,' you 
 may answer, ' but we are met to do this, or endeavour 
 to do it, and not to indulge in irrelevancy.' Yet is my 
 plea so irrelevant? . . . You are at loggerheads over 
 certain articles of faith and discipline, when a sound 
 arrests you in the midst of your controversy. You 
 look up and perceive that your Cathedral totters; that 
 it was her voice you heard appealing to you. 'Leave 
 your antagonisms and help one another to shore me up 
 me the witness of past generations to the Faith. 
 Generations to come will settle some of the questions 
 that vex you; others, maybe, the mere process of time 
 will silently resolve. But time, which helps Them, 
 is fast destroying us. You are not young, and my 
 necessity is urgent. Surely, my children, you will 
 be helping the Faith if you save its ancient walls.' I 
 bethink me," the Bishop went on, " that we may ap- 
 250
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 ply to Merchester that fine passage of Matthew 
 Arnold's on Oxford and her towers: 'Apparitions of 
 a day, what is our puny warfare against the Philistines 
 compared with the warfare which this queen of romance 
 has been waging against them for centuries, and will 
 wage after we are gone?'" He paused, and on an 
 afterthought succumbed to the professional trick of 
 improving the occasion. "It may even be that the 
 plight of our Cathedral contains a special lesson for us 
 of St. Hospital: '// house be divided against itself, 
 that house cannot stand'" 
 
 "Tilly vally!" muttered Brother Copas, and was 
 feeling for his snuff-box, but recollected himself in 
 time. 
 
 "You may say that you are old men, poor men; 
 that it is little you could help. Do not be so sure of 
 this. I am informed, for instance, that the proceeds 
 of our forthcoming Pageant are to be devoted to the 
 Restoration Fund, and not (as was originally intended) 
 to missionary purposes." 
 
 Here Mr. Simeon, bending over his shorthand 
 notes, blushed to the ears. It was he, good man, who 
 had first thought of this, and suggested it to Mr. Colt; 
 as it was Mr. Colt who had suggested it to the Com- 
 mittee in the presence of reporters, and who, on its 
 acceptance, had received the Committee's thanks. 
 
 "I am further told" here the Bishop glanced 
 around and caught the eye of the Chaplain, who in- 
 251
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 clined his head respectfully " that a er representa- 
 tion of the Foundation Ceremony of St. Hospital may 
 be included among the er ' 
 
 "Episodes," murmured Mr. Colt, prompting. 
 
 " Eh ? yes, precisely among the Episodes. I feel 
 sure it would make a tableau at once impressive and 
 er entertaining in the best sense of the word. . . . 
 So, you see, there are possibilities; but they presup- 
 pose your willingness to sink some differences and join 
 heartily in a common cause. . . . Or again, you may 
 urge that to re-edify our Cathedral is none of your 
 business as officially indeed it is none of mine, but 
 concerns the Dean and Chapter. I put it to you that 
 it concerns us all." Here the Bishop leaned back in 
 his chair, on the arms of which he rested his elbows; 
 and pressing his finger-tips together, gazed over them 
 at his audience. "That, at any rate, is my plea; and 
 I shall be glad, if you have a spokesman, to hear how 
 the suggestion of a 'truce of God' presents itself to 
 your minds." 
 
 In the pause that followed Brother Copas felt 
 himself nudged from behind. He cleared his throat 
 and inclined himself with a grave bow. 
 
 "My lord," he said, "my fellow-petitioners here 
 have asked me to speak first to any points that may be 
 raised. I have stipulated, however, that they hold 
 themselves free to disavow me here in your lordship's 
 presence, if on any point I misrepresent them." 
 252
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 The Bishop nodded encouragingly. 
 
 "Well then, my lord, it is peculiarly hard to speak 
 for them when at the outset of the inquiry you meet us 
 with a wholly unexpected appeal ... an appeal (shall 
 I say?) to sentiment rather than to strict reason." 
 
 " I admit that." 
 
 "As I admit the appeal to be a strong one. . . . 
 But before I try to answer it, may I deal with a sen- 
 tence or two which (pardon me) seemed less relevant 
 than the rest ? ... If a home be divided against itself, 
 that house cannot stand. True enough, my lord: but 
 neither can it aspire." 
 
 The Bishop lifted his eyebrows. But before he 
 could interpose a word Brother Copas had mounted 
 a hobby and was riding it, whip and spur. 
 
 "My lord, when a Hellene built a temple he took 
 two pillars, set them upright in the ground, and laid 
 a third block of stone a-top of them. He might re- 
 peat this operation a few times or a many, according to 
 the size at which he wished to build. He might carve 
 his pillars, and flourish them off with acanthus capitals, 
 and run friezes along his architraves: but always in 
 these three stones, the two uprights and the beam, the 
 trick of it resided. And his building lasted. The 
 pillars stood firm in solid ground, into which the weight 
 of the cross-beam pressed them yet more firmly. The 
 whole structure was there to endure, if not for ever, at 
 least until some ass of a fellow came along and kicked 
 253
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 it down to spite an old religion, because he had found 
 a new one. . . . But this Gothic this Cathedral, for 
 example, which it seems we must help to preserve is 
 fashioned only to kick itself down." 
 
 "It aspires." 
 
 "Precisely, my lord; that is the mischief. When 
 the Greek temple was content to repose upon natural 
 law when the Greek builder said, 'I will build for 
 my gods greatly yet lowlily, measuring my effort to 
 those powers of man which at their fullest I know to 
 be moderate, making my work harmonious with what 
 little it is permitted to me to know' in jumps the 
 rash Christian, saying with the men of Babel, Go to, 
 let us build us a city and a tower whose top may reach 
 unto heaven; or, in other words, 'Let us soar above 
 the law of earth and take the Kingdom of Heaven by 
 storm.' . . . With what result ? 
 
 "'Sed quid Typhoeus et validus Mimas 
 Contra sonantem Palladia aegida . . .?' 
 
 The Gothic builders, like the Titans, might strain to 
 pile Pelion on Olympus. Vis consili expers, my lord. 
 From the moment they take down their scaffording 
 nay, while it is yet standing the dissolution begins. 
 All their complicated structure of weights, counter- 
 weights, thrusts, balances, has started an internecine 
 conflict, stone warring against stone, the whole disin- 
 tegrating " 
 
 254
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 "Excuse me, Brother 
 
 " Copas, my lord." 
 
 " Excuse me, Brother Copas," said the Bishop with 
 a smile, "if I do not quite see to what practical con- 
 clusion we are tending." 
 
 "There is a moral ahead, my lord. *. . . Thanks 
 to Mr. Colt's zeal, we have all begun to aspire along 
 our different lines, with the result that St. Hospital 
 has become a house divided against itself. Now, 
 if I may say it modestly, I think your lordship's sug- 
 gestion an excellent one. We are old poor men what 
 business have we, any longer, with aspiration ? It is 
 time for us to cease from pushing and thrusting at 
 each other's souls; time for us to imitate the Greek 
 beam, and practice lying flat. ... I vote for the truce, 
 my lord; and when the time comes, shall vote for ex- 
 tending it." 
 
 "You have so odd a way of putting it, Brother 
 er Copas," his lordship mildly expostulated, "that 
 I hardly recognise as mine the suggestion you are good 
 enough to commend." 
 
 Brother Copas's eye twinkled. 
 
 "Ah, my lord! It has been the misfortune of my 
 life to follow Socrates humbly as a midwife of men's 
 ideas, and be accused of handing them back as 
 changelings." 
 
 "You consent to the truce, at any rate?" 
 
 "No, no!" muttered old Warboise. 
 255
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Copas turned a deaf ear. 
 
 "I vote for the truce," he said firmly, "provided 
 the one condition be understood. It is the status quo 
 ante so far as concerns us Protestants, and covers the 
 whole field. For example, at the Sacrament we receive 
 the elements in the form which life-long use has con- 
 secrated for us, allowing the wafter to be given to those 
 Brethren who prefer it. Will the Master consent to 
 this?" 
 
 Master Blanchminster was about to answer, but 
 first (it was somewhat pitiful to see) turned to Mr. 
 Colt. Mr. Colt bent his head in assent. 
 
 " That is granted," said the Master. 
 
 " Nor would we deny the use of Confession to those 
 who find solace in it 
 
 "Yes, we would," growled Brother Warboise. 
 
 " provided always," pursued Copas, " that its 
 use be not thrust upon us, nor our avoidance of it in- 
 juriously reckoned against us." 
 
 " I think," said the Master, " Brother Copas knows 
 that on this point he may count upon an honourable 
 understanding." 
 
 " I do, Master. . . . Then there is this new business 
 of compulsory vespers at six o'clock. We wish that 
 compulsion removed." 
 
 "Why? "snapped Mr. Colt. 
 
 " You would force me to say, sir, ' Because it inter- 
 feres with my fishing.' Well, even so, I might con- 
 256
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 fess without shame, and answer with Walton, that 
 when I would beget content and increase confidence 
 in the power and wisdom and providence of Almighty 
 God I will walk the meadows by Mere, ' and there con- 
 template the lilies that take no care, and those very 
 many other various little living creatures that are not 
 only created but fed (man knows not how) by the good- 
 ness of the God of nature, and therefore trust in him/ 
 . . . But I am speaking here rather on behalf of 
 Brother Warboise if he will leave off nudging me in 
 the small of the back. It happens that for a number 
 of years Brother Warboise has daily, at this hour, paid 
 a visit to a sick and paralysed friend " 
 
 " He is not a friend," rasped out Brother Warboise. 
 "On the contrary " 
 
 "Shall we," interposed the Master, "agree to retain 
 the service on the understanding that I am willing to 
 hear any reasonable plea for non-attendance ? I need 
 hardly say, my lord, that visiting the sick would rank 
 with me before any formal observance; and," he 
 added, with the hint of a smile which Brother Copas 
 caught, "even to less Christian excuses I might con- 
 ceivably be willing to listen." 
 
 So, piece by piece, the truce was built up. . . . 
 
 When the petitioners had thanked his lordship and 
 
 withdrawn, and Mr. Simeon, having gathered up his 
 
 notes, presently followed them out, the Bishop, the 
 
 257
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Master, and the Chaplain sat for half an hour talking 
 together. 
 
 The time came for Mr. Colt to take his leave, being 
 due at a Pageant rehearsal. When he was gone the 
 Bishop suggested a quiet stroll in the home-park, and 
 the two old divines fared forth to take the benediction 
 of evening, still keeping good grave converse as they 
 paced side by side. 
 
 "My dear Eustace," said the Bishop (they were 
 friends of long standing, and in private used Christian 
 names in place of titles), " confess, now that this busi- 
 ness is over, it was not so bad as you feared." 
 
 The Master respired the cool air with a quiet sigh. 
 "No, Walter, it was not so bad as I feared. But hav- 
 ing ruled all these years without question, you under- 
 stand " 
 
 "You have certainly not ruled all these years for 
 nothing. They were honest fellows, and made it 
 pretty plain that they loved you. It does not rankle, 
 I hope?" 
 
 "No." Master Blanchminster drew another deep 
 breath and emitted it as if expelling the last cloudy 
 thought of resentment. "No," he repeated; "I be- 
 lieve I may say that it rankles no longer. They are 
 honest fellows I am glad you perceived that." 
 
 "One could read it in all of them, saving perhaps 
 that odd fellow who acted as spokesman. Brother 
 er Copas? . . . He lectured me straightly enough, 
 258
 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 but there is always a disposition to suspect an ec- 
 centric." 
 
 " He was probably the honestest man in the room," 
 answered Master Blanchminster with some positive- 
 ness. 
 
 " I am the more glad to hear it," said the Bishop, 
 "because meeting a man of such patent capacity 
 brought so low " 
 
 "I assure you, he doesn't even drink or not to 
 excess," the Master assured him. 
 
 They were passing under the archway of the Porter's 
 Lodge. 
 
 "But hallo!" said the Bishop, as they emerged 
 upon the great quadrangle, "what in the world is 
 going on yonder?" 
 
 Again, as the Master had viewed it many hundreds 
 of times, the sunset shed its gold across the well-kept 
 turf between long shadows cast by the chimneys of 
 the Brethren's lodgings. As usual, in the deep shadow 
 of the western front were gathered groups of inmates 
 for the evening chat. But the groups had drawn to- 
 gether into one, and were watching a child who, soli- 
 tary upon the grass-plot, paced through a measure 
 before them "high and disposedly." 
 
 "Brayvo!" shrilled the voice of Mrs. Royle, cham- 
 pion among viragoes. "Now, at the turn you come 
 forward and catch your skirts back before you curt- 
 chey!" 
 
 259
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "But what on earth does it all mean?" asked the 
 Bishop, staring across from the archway. 
 
 " It's it's Bonaday's child he's one of our Breth- 
 ren: as I suppose, rehearsing her part for the Pageant." 
 
 Corona's audience had no eyes but for the perform- 
 ance. As she advanced to the edge of the grass-plot 
 and dropped a final curtsey to them, their hands beat 
 together. The clapping travelled across the dusk of 
 the quadrangle to the two watchers, and reached them 
 faintly, thinly, as though they listened in wonder at 
 ghosts applauding on the far edge of Elysian fields. 
 
 260
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 "I WON'T say you sold the pass," snarled Brother 
 Warboise, " though I might. The fact is, there 's 
 no trusting your cleverness. You see a chance of 
 showing-off before the Bishop, and that's enough: 
 off you start with a lecture on architecture (which he 
 didn't in the least want to hear), and then, when he 
 finds a chance to pull you up, you take the disinter- 
 ested line and put us all in the cart." 
 
 "You hit it precisely," answered Brother Copas, 
 "as only a Protestant can. His eye is always upon 
 his neighbour's defects, and I never cease to marvel 
 at its adeptness. . . . Well, I do seem to owe you 
 an apology. But I cannot agree that the Bishop was 
 bored. To me he appeared to listen very attentively." 
 
 "He affected to, while he could: for he saw that 
 you were playing his game. His whole object being 
 to head off our Petition while pretending to grant it, 
 the more nonsense you talked, within limits, the bet- 
 ter he was pleased." 
 
 Brother Copas pondered a moment. 
 
 "Upon my word," he chuckled, "it was some- 
 thing of a feat to take a religious cock-pit and turn 
 261
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 it into an Old Men's Mutual Improvement Society. 
 Since the Wesleyans took over the Westminster Aqua- 
 rium 
 
 " You need not add insult to injury." 
 
 "'Injury'? My good Warboise, a truce is not a 
 treaty: still less is it a defeat. . . . Now look here. 
 You are in a raging bad temper this evening, and you 
 tell yourself it 's because the Bishop, with my artless 
 aid, has as you express it put you in the cart. Now 
 I am going to prove to you that the true reason is a 
 quite different one. For why ? Because, though you 
 may not know it, you have been in a raging bad tem- 
 per ever since this business was broached, three months 
 ago. Why again? I have hinted the answer more 
 than once; and now I will put it as a question. Had 
 Zimri peace, who slew His Master?" 
 
 "I do not understand." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do! You are in a raging bad temper, 
 being at heart more decent than any of your silly con- 
 victions, because you have wounded for their sake the 
 eminent Christian gentleman now coming towards 
 us along the river-path. He has been escorting the 
 Bishop for some distance on his homeward way, and 
 has just parted from him. I '11 wager that he meets 
 us without a touch of resentment. . . . Ah, Brother, 
 you have cause to be full of wrath!" 
 
 Sure enough the Master, approaching and recognis- 
 ing the pair, hailed them gaily. 
 262
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 "Eh? Brother Copas Brother Warboise a fine 
 evening! But the swallows will be leaving us in a 
 week or two." 
 
 For a moment it seemed he would pass on, with no 
 more than the usual nod and fatherly smile. He had 
 indeed taken a step or two past them as they stood 
 aside for him in the narrow path: but on a sudden 
 thought he halted and turned about. 
 
 "By the way that sick friend of yours, Brother 
 Warboise. ... I was intending to ask about him. 
 Paralysed, I think you said? Do I know him?" 
 
 " He is not my friend," answered Brother Warboise 
 gruffly. 
 
 " His name is Weekes," said Brother Copas, answer- 
 ing the Master's puzzled look. "He was a master- 
 printer in his time, an able fellow, but addicted to 
 drink and improvident. His downfall assisted that of 
 Brother Warboise's stationery business, and Brother 
 Warboise has never forgiven him." 
 
 "Dear, dear!" Master Blanchminster passed a hand 
 over his brow. " But if that's so, I don't see 
 
 " It 's a curious story," said Brother Copas, smiling. 
 
 " It 's one you have no right to meddle with, any 
 way," growled Brother Warboise; "and, what 's more, 
 you can't know anything about it." 
 
 " It came to me through the child Corona," pursued 
 Brother Copas imperturbably. "You took her to 
 Weekes's house to tea one afternoon, and she had 
 263
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 it from Weekes's wife. It 's astonishing how these 
 women will talk." 
 
 "I 've known some men too, for that matter " 
 
 " It 's useless for you to keep interrupting. The 
 Master has asked for information, and I am going to 
 tell him the story that is, sir, if you can spare a few 
 minutes to hear it." 
 
 "You are sure it will take but a few minutes?" 
 asked Master Blanchminster doubtfully. 
 
 "Eh, Master?" Brother Copas laughed. "Did 
 you, too, find me somewhat prolix this afternoon?" 
 
 "Well, you shall tell me the story. But since it is 
 not good for us to be standing here among the river 
 damps, I suggest that you turn back with me towards 
 St. Hospital, and where the path widens so that we 
 can walk three abreast you shall begin." 
 
 "With your leave, Master, I would be excused," 
 said Brother Warboise. 
 
 " Oh, no, you won't," Brother Copas assured him. 
 " For unless you come too, I promise to leave out all 
 the discreditable part of the story and paint you with 
 a halo. ... It began, sir, in this way," he took up 
 the tale as they reached the wider path, "when the 
 man Weekes fell under a paralytic stroke, Warboise 
 took occasion to call on him. Perhaps, Brother, you 
 will tell us why?" 
 
 " I saw in his seizure the visitation of God's wrath," 
 said Warboise. "The man had done me a notorious 
 264
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 wrong. He had been a swindler, and my business was 
 destroyed through him." 
 
 " Mrs. Weeks said that even the sight of the wretch's 
 affliction did not hinder our Brother from denouncing 
 him. He sat down in a chair facing the paralytic, and 
 talked of the debt: 'which now/ said he, 'you will 
 never be able to pay.' . . . Nay, Master, there is 
 better to come. When Brother Warboise got up to 
 take his leave, the man's lips moved, and he tried to 
 say something. His wife listened for some time, and 
 then reported, ' He wants you to come again.' Brother 
 Warboise wondered at this; but he called again next 
 day. WTiereupon the pleasure in the man's face so 
 irritated him, that he sat down again and began to talk 
 of the debt and God's judgment, in words more op- 
 probrious than before. . . . His own affairs, just then, 
 were going from bad to worse: and in short he found 
 so much relief in bullying the author of his misfortunes, 
 who could not answer back, that the call became a 
 daily one. As for the woman, she endured it, seeing 
 that in some mysterious way it did her husband good.' 
 
 " There was nothing mysterious about it," objected 
 Brother Warboise. "He knew himself a sinner, and 
 desired to pay some of his penance before meeting his 
 God." 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Copas. "But whether 
 you 're right or wrong, it doesn't affect the story much. 
 ... At length some friends extricated our Brother 
 265
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 from his stationery business, and got him admitted to 
 the Blanchminster Charity. The first afternoon he 
 paid a visit in his black gown, the sick man's face so 
 lit up at the sight that Warboise flew into a passion 
 did you not, Brother?" 
 
 "Did the child tell you all this?" 
 
 "Aye: from the woman's lips." 
 
 "I was annoyed, because all of a sudden it struck 
 me that, in revenge for my straight talk, Weekes had 
 been wanting me to call day by day that he might 
 watch me going downhill; and that now he was gloat- 
 ing to see me reduced to a Blanchminster gown. So 
 I said, 'You blackguard, you may look your fill, and 
 carry the recollection of it to the Throne of Judgment, 
 where I hope it may help you. But this is your last 
 sight of me.'" 
 
 "Quite correct," nodded Copas. "Mrs. Weekes 
 corroborates. . . . Well, Master, our Brother trudged 
 back to St. Hospital with this resolve, and for a week 
 paid no more visits to the sick. By the end of that 
 time he had discovered, to his surprise, that he could 
 not do without them that somehow Weekes had be- 
 come as necessary to him as he to Weekes." 
 
 "How did you find that out?" asked Brother War- 
 boise sharply. 
 
 "Easily enough, as the child told the story. . . . 
 At any rate, you went. At the door of the house you 
 met Mrs. Weekes. She had put on her bonnet, and 
 266
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 was coming that very afternoon to beseech your re- 
 turn. You have called daily ever since to talk about 
 your debt, though the Statute of Limitations has closed 
 it for years. . . . That, Master, is the story." 
 
 "You have told it fairly enough," said Warboise. 
 " Now, since the Master knows it, I 'd be glad to be 
 told if that man is my friend or my enemy. Upon 
 my word I don't rightly know, and if he knows he '11 
 never find speech to tell me. Sometimes I think he 's 
 both." 
 
 " I am not sure that one differs very much from the 
 other, in the long run," said Copas. 
 
 But the Master, who had been musing, turned to 
 Warboise with a quick smile. 
 
 " Surely," he said, " there is one easy way of choos- 
 ing. Take the poor fellow some little gift. If you 
 will accept it for him, I shall be happy to contribute 
 now and then some grapes or a bottle of wine or other 
 small comforts." 
 
 He paused, and added with another smile, still 
 more penetrating 
 
 "You need not give up talking of the debt, you 
 know!" 
 
 By this time they had reached the gateway of his 
 lodging, and he gave them a fatherly good night just 
 as a child's laugh reached them through the dusk at 
 the end of the roadway. It was Corona, returning 
 from rehearsal; and the Chaplain the redoubtable 
 267
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 William the Conqueror was her escort. The two 
 had made friends on their homeward way, and were 
 talking gaily. 
 
 "Why, here is Uncle Copas!" called Corona, and 
 ran to him. 
 
 Mr. Colt relinquished his charge with a wave of the 
 hand. His manner showed that he accepted the new 
 truce de bon casur. 
 
 "Is it peace, you two?" he called, as he went past. 
 
 Brother Warboise growled. What hast thou to do 
 with peace ? Get thee behind me, the growl seemed to 
 suggest. At all events, it suggested this answer to 
 Brother Copas 
 
 " If you and Jehu the son of Nimshi start exchang- 
 ing rdles," he chuckled, "where will Weekes come 
 in?" 
 
 Master Blanchrninster let himself in with his latch- 
 key, and went up the stairs to his library. On the 
 way he meditated on the story to which he had just 
 listened, and the words that haunted his mind were 
 Wordsworth's 
 
 "Alas! the gratitude of men 
 Hath oftener left me mourning." 
 
 A solitary light burned in the library the electric 
 
 lamp on his table beside the fire-place. It had a 
 
 268
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 green shade, and for a second or two the Master did 
 not perceive that some one stood a pace or two from 
 it in the penumbra. 
 
 "Master!" 
 
 "Hey!" with a start "Is it Simeon? ... My 
 good Simeon, you made me jump. What brings you 
 back here at this hour? You 've forgotten some 
 paper, I suppose." 
 
 "No, Master." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 By the faint greenish light the Master missed to 
 observe that Mr. Simeon's face was deadly pale. 
 
 "Master, I have come to make confession to 
 throw myself on your mercy! For a long time for 
 a year almost I have been living dishonestly. . . . 
 Master, do you believe in miracles?" 
 
 For a moment there was no answer. Master 
 Blanchminster walked back to an electric button be- 
 side the door, and turned on more light with a finger 
 that trembled slightly. 
 
 "If you have been living dishonestly, Simeon, I 
 certainly shall believe in miracles." 
 
 " But I mean real miracles, Master." 
 
 "You are agitated, Simeon. Take a seat and tell 
 me your trouble in your own way beginning, if you 
 please, with the miracle." 
 
 " It was that which brought me. Until it happened 
 
 I could not find courage ' 
 
 269
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Mr. Simeon's eyes wandered to this side and that, 
 as though they still sought a last chance of escape. 
 
 "The facts, if you please?" 
 
 The Master's voice had of a sudden become cold, 
 even stern. He flung the words much as one dashes 
 a cupful of water in the face of an hysterical woman. 
 They brought Mr. Simeon to himself. His gaze 
 shivered and fixed itself on the Master's, as in a com- 
 pass-box you may see the needle tremble to magnetic 
 north. He gripped the arms of his chair, caught his 
 voice, and went on desperately. 
 
 "This afternoon it was. . . . On my way here I 
 went around, as I go daily, by the Cathedral, to hear 
 if the workmen have found any fresh defects. . . . 
 They had opened a new pit by the south-east corner, 
 a few yards from the first, and as I came by one of the 
 men was levering away with a crowbar at a large stone 
 not far below the surface. I waited while he worked 
 it loose, and then, lifting it with both hands, he flung 
 it on to the edge of the pit. . . . By the shape we 
 knew it at once for an old grave-stone that, falling down 
 long ago, had somehow sunk and been covered by the 
 turf. There was lettering, too, upon the undermost 
 side when the man turned it over. He scraped the 
 earth away with the flat of his hands, and together we 
 made out what was written." 
 
 Mr. Simeon fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, drew 
 forth a scrap of paper, and handed it to the Master. 
 270
 
 MR. SIMEON MAKES A CLEAN BREAST 
 
 "I copied it down then and there: no, not at once. 
 At first I looked up, afraid to see the whole building 
 falling, falling upon me " 
 
 The Master did not hear. He had unfolded the 
 paper. Adjusting his spectacles, he read, God have 
 Mercy on the Soul of Giles Tonkin. Obiit. Dec. 17th, 
 1643. No man can serve two masters. 
 
 "A strange text for a tombstone," he commented. 
 "And the date 1643? That is the year when our 
 city surrendered in the Parliament wars. . . . Who 
 knows but this may have marked the grave of a man 
 shot because he hesitated too long in taking sides 
 ... or perchance in his flurry he took both, and 
 tried to serve two masters." 
 
 " Master, I am that man. ... Do not look at me 
 so! I mean that, whether he knew it or not, he died 
 to save me ... that his stone has risen up for witness, 
 driving me to you. Ah, do not weaken me, now that 
 I am here to confess!" 
 
 And leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his 
 hands spread to hide his face, Mr. Simeon blurted out 
 his confession. 
 
 When he had ended there was silence in the room 
 for a space. 
 
 "Tarbolt!" murmured the Master, just audibly and 
 no more. "If it had been anyone but Tarbolt!" 
 
 There was another silence, broken only by one 
 slow sob. 
 
 271
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "For either he will hate the one and love the other; 
 or else he will hold to the one and despise the other. . . . 
 Simeon, which was I?" 
 
 Mr. Simeon forced himself to look up. Tears were 
 in his eyes, but they shone. 
 
 "Master, can you doubt?" 
 
 " I am sorry to appear brutal," said Master Blanch- 
 minster, coldly and wearily, "but my experiences to- 
 day have been somewhat trying for an old man. May 
 I ask if, on taking your resolution to confess, you came 
 straight to me; or if, receiving just dismissal from my 
 service, you yet hold Canon Tarbolt in reserve?" 
 
 Mr. Simeon stood up. 
 
 " I have behaved so badly to you, sir, that you have 
 a right to ask it. But as a fact I went to Canon Tar- 
 bolt first, and said I could no longer work for him." 
 
 "Sit down, please. . . . How many children have 
 you, Mr. Simeon?" 
 
 "Seven, sir. . . . The seventh arrived a fortnight 
 ago yesterday fortnight, to be precise. A fine boy, 
 I am happy to say." 
 
 He looked up pitifully. The Master stood above 
 him, smiling down; and while the Master's stature 
 seemed to have taken some additional inches, his smile 
 seemed to irradiate the room. 
 
 " Simeon, I begin to think it high time I raised your 
 salary." 
 
 272
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 THE May-fly season had come around again, and 
 Corona was spending her Saturday the Greycoats' 
 holiday with Brother Copas by the banks of Mere. 
 They had brought their frugal luncheon in the creel 
 which was to contain the trout Brother Copas hoped 
 to catch. He hoped to catch a brace at least one 
 for his sick friend at home, the other to replenish his 
 own empty cupboard: for this excursion meant his 
 missing to attend at the kitchen and receive his daily 
 dole. 
 
 There may have been thunder in the air. At any 
 rate the fish refused to feed; and after an hour's 
 patient waiting for sign of a rise without which his 
 angling would be but idle pains Brother Copas 
 found a seat, and pulled out a book from his pocket, 
 while Corona wandered over the meadows in search 
 of larks' nests. But this again was pains thrown 
 away; since, as Brother Copas afterwards explained, 
 in the first place the buttercups hid them, and secondly 
 the nests were not there! the birds preferring the 
 high chalky downs for their nurseries. She knew, 
 273
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 however, that along the ditches where the willows 
 grew, and the alder clumps, there must be scores of 
 warblers and other late-breeding birds; for walking 
 here in the winter she had marvelled at the number 
 of nests laid bare by the fall ng leaves. These war- 
 blers wait for the leaves to conceal their building, and 
 Winter may an it will betray the deserted hiding-place. 
 So Brother Copas had told her, to himself repeating 
 
 "Cras amorum copulatrix inter umbras arborum 
 Inplicat gazas virentes de flagello myrteo. ..." 
 
 Corona found five of these nests, and studied them: 
 flimsy things, constructed of a few dried grasses, in- 
 woven with horsehair and cobwebs. Before next 
 spring the rains would dissolve them and they would 
 disappear. 
 
 She returned with a huge posy of wild flowers and 
 the information that she, for her part, felt hungry as 
 a hunter. . . . They disposed themselves to eat. 
 
 " Do you know, Uncle Copas," she asked suddenly, 
 "why I have dragged you out here to-day?" 
 
 "Did I show myself so reluctant?" he protested; 
 but she paid no heed to this. 
 
 " It is because I came home here to England, to St. 
 Hospital, just a year ago this very afternoon. This 
 is my Thanksgiving Day," added Corona solemnly. 
 
 "I am afraid there is no turkey in the hamper," 
 said Brother Copas, pretending to search. " We must 
 274
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 console ourselves by reflecting that the bird is out of 
 season." 
 
 " You didn't remember the date, Uncle Copas. Did 
 you, now?" 
 
 " I did, though." Brother Copas gazed at the run- 
 ning water for a space and then turned to her with a 
 quick smile. " Why, child, of course I did ! . . . And 
 I appreciate the honour." 
 
 Corona nodded as she broke off a piece of crust and 
 munched it. 
 
 " I wanted to take stock of it all. (We 're dining 
 out of doors, so please let me talk with my mouth full. 
 I 'm learning to eat slowly, like a good English girl: 
 only it takes so much time when there 's a lot to say.) 
 Well, I 've had a good time, and nobody can take that 
 away, thank the Lord! It it 's been just heavenly." 
 
 " A good time for all of us, little maid." 
 
 " Honest Indian ? . . . But it can't last, you know. 
 That 's what we have to consider: and it mayn't be a 
 gay thought, but I 'd hate to be one of those folks that 
 never see what 's over the next fence. ... Of course," 
 said Corona pensively, " It 's up to you to tell me I 
 dropped in on St. Hospital like one of Solomon's lilies 
 that take no thought for to-morrow. But I didn't, 
 really: for I always knew this was going to be the time 
 of my life." 
 
 "I don't understand," said Copas. "Why should 
 it not last?" 
 
 275
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " I guess you and I '11 have to be serious," she an- 
 swered. "Daddy gets frailer and frailer. . . . You 
 can't hide from me that you know it: and please don't 
 try, for I 've to think of of the afterwards, and I want 
 you to help." 
 
 "But suppose that I have been thinking about it 
 already thinking about it hard ? " said Brother Copas 
 slowly. " Ah, child, leave it to me, and never talk like 
 that!" 
 
 "But why?" she asked, wondering. 
 
 "Because we old folks cannot bear to hear a child 
 talking, like one of ourselves, of troubles. That has 
 been our business: we 've seen it through; and now 
 our best happiness lies in looking back on the young, 
 and looking forward for them, and keeping them 
 young and happy so long as the gods allow. . . . 
 Never search out ways of rewarding us. To see you 
 just going about with a light heart is a better reward 
 than ever you could contrive for us by study. Child, 
 if the gods allowed, I would keep you always like 
 Master Walton's milkmaid, that had not yet attained 
 so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any 
 fears of many things that will never be, as too many 
 men too often do. But she cast away care 
 
 " I think she must have been a pretty silly sort of 
 milkmaid," said Corona. " Likely she ended to slow 
 music while the cows came home. But what wor- 
 ries me is that I 'm young and don't see any way to 
 276
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 hurry things. Miss Champernowne won't let me join 
 the Cookery class because I 'm under the age for it: 
 and I see she talks sense in her way. Even if I learnt 
 cookery and let down my skirts, who 's going to en- 
 gage me for a cook-general at my time of life?" 
 
 "Nobody, please God," answered Brother Copas, 
 copying her seriousness. " Did I not tell you I have 
 been thinking about all this? If you must know, I 
 have talked it over with the Master . . . and the long 
 and short of it is that, if or when the time should come, 
 I can step in and make a claim for you as your only 
 known guardian. My dear child, St. Hospital will 
 not let you go." 
 
 For a moment Corona tried to speak, but could not. 
 She sat with her palms laid on her lap, and stared at 
 the blurred outline of the chalk-hills blurred by the 
 mist in her eyes. Two great tears welled and splashed 
 down on the back of her hand. 
 
 "The years and years," she murmured, "before I 
 can begin to pay it back!" 
 
 "Nay" Brother Copas set down his half-filled 
 glass, took the hand and gently wiped it with the sleeve 
 of his frayed gown; and so held it, smoothing it while 
 he spoke, as though the tear had hurt it " it is we who 
 are repaying you. Shall I tell you what I told the 
 Master ? ' Master/ I said, ' all we Brethren, ever since 
 I can remember, have been wearing gowns as more or 
 less conscious humbugs. Christ taught that poverty 
 277
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 was noble, and such a gospel might be accepted by 
 the East. It might persevere along the Mediterranean 
 coast, and survive what St. Paul did to Christianity to 
 make Christianity popular. It might reach Italy and 
 flame up in a crazed good soul like the soul of St. 
 Francis. It might creep along as a pious opinion, and 
 even reach England, to be acknowledged on a king's 
 or a rowdy's deathbed and Alberic de Blanchmin- 
 ster/ said I, ' (saving your presence, sir) was a rowdy 
 robber who, being afraid when it came to dying, caught 
 at the Christian precept he has most neglected as be- 
 ing therefore in all probability the decentest. But no 
 Englishman, not being on his deathbed, ever believed 
 it: and we knew better until this child came along 
 and taught us. The Brethren's livery has always been 
 popular enough in the streets of Merchester: but she 
 she taught us (God bless her) that it can be honoured 
 for its own sake; that it is noble and, best of all, that 
 its noblesse oblige' . . . Ah, little maid, you do not 
 guess your strength!" 
 
 Corona understood very little of all this. But she 
 understood that Uncle Copas loved her, and was utter- 
 ing these whimsies to cover up the love he revealed. 
 She did better than answer him in words: she nestled 
 to his shoulder, rubbing her cheek softly against the 
 threadbare gown 
 
 "When is your birthday, little one?" 
 
 "I don't know," Corona confessed. "Mother 
 278
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 never would tell me. She would get angry about 
 birthdays, and say she never took any truck with 
 them. . . . But of course everyone ought to have a 
 birthday, of sorts, and so I call this my real one. But 
 I never told you that did I?" 
 
 " I heard you say once that you left a little girl be- 
 hind you somewhere in the States, but that you only 
 came to yourself the day you reached England." 
 
 "Yes; and I do feel sorry for that other little girl 
 sometimes!" 
 
 " You need not. She '11 grow up to be an American 
 woman: and the American woman, as everybody 
 knows, has all the fun of the fair. . . . To-day is 
 your birthday, then; and see! I have brought along 
 a bottle of claret, to drink your health. It isn't as 
 the Irish butler said the best claret, but it 's the best 
 we 've got. Your good health, Miss Corona, and 
 many happy returns!" 
 
 "Which," responded Corona, lifting her cupful of 
 milk, " I looks towards you and I likewise bows. . . . 
 Would you, by the way, very much object if I fetched 
 Timothy out of the basket ? He gets so few pleasures/ 
 
 For the rest of the meal, by the clear-running river, 
 they talked sheer delightful nonsense. . . . When^ 
 (as Brother Copas expressed it) they had "put from 
 themselves the desire of meat and drink," he lit a pipe 
 and smoked tranquilly, still now and again, however, 
 sipping absent-mindedly at his thin claret. 
 279
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 " But you are not to drink more than half a bottle," 
 Corona commanded. " The rest we must carry home 
 for supper." 
 
 " So poor a vintage as this, once opened, will hardly 
 bear the journey," he protested. " But what are you 
 saying about supper?" 
 
 " ^Tiy, you wouldn't leave poor old Daddy quite 
 out of the birthday, I hope! . . . There 's to be a 
 supper to-night. Branny 's coming." 
 
 "Am I to take this for an invitation?" 
 
 " Of course you are. . . . There will be speeches." 
 
 "The dickens is, there won't be any trout at this 
 rate!" 
 
 " They '11 be rising before evening," said Corona 
 confidently. "And, anyway, we can't hurry them." 
 
 From far up stream, where the grey mass of the 
 Cathedral blocked the vale, a faint tapping sound 
 reached them, borne on " the cessile air." It came 
 from the Pageant Ground, where workmen were ham- 
 mering busily at the Grand Stand. It set them talking 
 of the Pageant, of Corona's " May Queen" dress, of the 
 lines (or, to be accurate, the line and a half) she had 
 to speak. This led to her repeating some verses she 
 had learnt at the Greycoats' School. They began 
 
 "I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers." 
 
 And Corona was crazy over them, because (as she 
 
 put it) " they made you feel you were smelling all Eng- 
 
 280
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 land out of a bottle." Brother Copas told her of the 
 man who had written them; and of a lovelier poem 
 he had written To Meadows 
 
 "Ye have been fresh and green, 
 
 Ye have been filled with flowers, 
 And ye the walks have been 
 
 Where maids have spent their hours. 
 
 "You have beheld how they 
 
 With wicker arks did come. 
 To kiss and bear away 
 
 The richer cowslips home. . . . 
 
 "But now we see none here " 
 
 He broke off. 
 
 "Ah, there he gets at the pang of it! Other poets 
 have wasted pity on the dead-and-gone-maids, but his 
 is for the fields they leave desolate." 
 
 This puzzled Corona. But the poem had touched 
 her somehow, and she kept repeating snatches of it 
 to herself as she rambled off in search of more birds' 
 nests. Left to himself, Brother Copas pulled out 
 book and pencil again, and began botching at the last 
 lines of the Pervigilium Veneris 
 
 "Her favour it was filled the sail of the Trojan for Latium 
 
 bound; 
 Her favour that won her sEneas a bride on Laurentian 
 
 ground; 
 
 281
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 And anon from the cloister her wit wooed the Vestal, the Vir- 
 gin, to Mars, 
 
 As her wit by the wild Sabine rape recreated her Rome for 
 its wars 
 
 With the Ramnes, Quirites, together ancestrally proud as 
 they drew 
 
 From Romulus down to our Ccesar last, best of that bone 
 and that thew. 
 
 Now learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 loved, love anew!" 
 
 Brother Copas paused to trim his pencil, which was 
 blunt. His gaze wandered across the water-meadows 
 and overtook Corona, who was wading deep in butter- 
 cups. 
 
 "Proserpine on the fields of Enna!" he muttered, 
 and resumed 
 
 "Love planteth a field; it conceives to the passion, the pang, 
 
 of his joy. 
 
 In afield was Dione in labour delivered of Cupid the Boy: 
 And the field in its fostering lap from her travail receiv'd 
 
 him: he drew 
 Mother's milk from the delicate kisses of flowers; and he 
 
 prospered and grew. 
 Now learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 
 loved, love anew!" 
 
 "Why do I translate this stuff? Why, but for the 
 sake of a child who will never see it who, if she read 
 it, would not understand a word?" 
 
 282
 
 CORONA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 "I/o/ Behold ye the bulls, with how lordly a flank they be- 
 
 sprawl on the broom! 
 Yet obey the uxorious yoke and are tamed by Dione her 
 
 doom. 
 Or behear ye the sheep, to the husbanding rams how they 
 
 bleat to the shade! 
 Or behear ye the birds, at the Goddess 1 command how they 
 
 sing unafraid! 
 Be it harsh as the swannery's clamour that shatters the hush 
 
 of the lake; 
 Be it dulcet as where Philomela holds darkling the poplar 
 
 awake, 
 
 So melting her soul into music, you 'd vow 'twas her pas- 
 sion, her own, 
 She chanteth her sister forgot, with the Daulian crime 
 
 long-agone. 
 
 Hush! Hark! Draw around to the circle. . . . Ah, loiter- 
 ing Summer, say when 
 For me shall be broken the charm, that I chirp with the 
 
 swallow again? 
 I am old: I am dumb: I have waited to sing till Apollo 
 
 withdrew. 
 So Amycla-. a moment was mute, and for ever a wilderness 
 
 qrew. 
 Now learn ye to love who loved never now ye who have 
 
 loved, love anew!" 
 
 " Perdidi musam tacendo," murmured Brother Co- 
 pas, gazing afield. " Only the young can speak to the 
 young. . . . God grant that, at the right time, the 
 283
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 right Prince may come to her over the meadows, and 
 discourse honest music!" 
 
 Splash! 
 
 He sprang up and snatched at his rod. A two- 
 pound trout had risen almost under his nose. 
 
 284
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 THE great day dawned at last: the day to which all 
 Merchester had looked forward for months, for which 
 so many hundreds had been working, on which all 
 must now pin their hopes: the opening day of Pageant 
 Week. 
 
 I suppose that never in Merchester's long history 
 had her citizens so frequently or so nervously studied 
 their weather-glasses. 
 
 "Tarbolt, of all people!" murmured Brother Copas 
 one afternoon in the Venables Free Library. 
 
 He had just met the Canon coming down the stairs, 
 and turned to watch the retreating figure to the door- 
 way. 
 
 " I am suffering from a severe shock," he announced 
 five minutes later to Mr. Simeon, whom he found at 
 work in Paradise. " Did you ever know your friend 
 Tarbolt patronise this institution before?" 
 
 "Never," answered Mr. Simeon, flushing. 
 
 " Well, I met him on the stairs just now. For a 
 moment I knew not which alternative to choose 
 285
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 whether your desertion had driven him to the extreme 
 course of reading a book or two for himself, or he had 
 come desperately in search of you to promise that if 
 you returned all should be forgiven. . . . No, you 
 need not look alarmed. He came in search of a 
 newspaper." 
 
 "But there are no newspapers in the Library." 
 
 "Quite so: he has just made that discovery. 
 Thereupon, since an animal of that breed cannot go 
 anywhere without leaving his scent behind him, he 
 has scrawled himself over half a page of the Sugges- 
 tion Book. He wants this Library to take in the Times 
 newspaper, 'if only for the sake of its foreign corre- 
 spondence and its admirable weather-charts.' Signed, 
 'J. Tarbolt/ What part is the humbug sustaining, 
 that so depends on the weather?" 
 
 "He takes Bishop Henry of Blois in the Fourth 
 Episode. He wears a suit of complete armour, and 
 you cannot conceive how much it it improves him. 
 I helped him to try it on the other day," Mr. Simeon 
 explained with a smile. 
 
 "Maybe," suggested Brother Copas, "he fears the 
 effect of rain upon his 'h's.'" 
 
 But the glass held steady, and the great day dawned 
 without a cloud. Good citizens of Merchester, aris- 
 ing early to scan the sky, were surprised to find their 
 next-door neighbours already abroad, and in consulta- 
 
 286
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 tion with neighbours opposite over strings of flags to 
 be suspended across the roadway. Mr. Simeon, for 
 example, peeping out, with an old dressing-gown cast 
 over his nightshirt, was astounded to find Mr. Magor, 
 the contiguous pork-seller, thus engaged with Mr. 
 Sillifant, the cheap fruiterer across the way. He had 
 accustomed himself to think of them as careless citizens 
 and uncultured, and their unexpected patriotism gave 
 him perhaps less of a shock than the discovery that 
 they must have been moving faster than he with the 
 times, for they both wore pajamas. 
 
 They were kind to him, however: and, lifting no 
 eyebrow over his antiquated night-attire, consulted 
 him cheerfully over a string of flags which (as it turned 
 out) Mr. Magor had paid yesterday a visit to South- 
 ampton expressly to borrow. 
 
 I mention this because it was a foretaste, and signi- 
 ficant, of the general enthusiasm. 
 
 At ten in the morning Fritz, head waiter of that 
 fine old English coaching house, " The Mitre," looked 
 out from the portico where he stood surrounded by 
 sporting prints, and announced to the young lady in 
 the bar that the excursion trains must be "bringing 
 them in hundreds." 
 
 By eleven o'clock the High Street was packed with 
 
 crowds that whiled away their time staring at the flags 
 
 and decorations. But it was not until 1 p.m. that 
 
 there began to flow, always towards the Pageant 
 
 287
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Ground, a stream by which that week, among the in- 
 habitants of Merchester, will always be best remem- 
 bered; a stream of folk in strange dresses knights in 
 armour, ladies in flounces and ruffs, ancient Britons, 
 greaved Roman legionaries, monks, cavaliers, Geor- 
 gian beaux and dames. 
 
 It appeared as if all the dead generations of Mer- 
 chester had arisen from their tombs and reclaimed 
 possession of her streets. They shared it, however, 
 with throngs of modern folk, in summer attire, hurry- 
 ing from early luncheons to the spectacle. In the 
 roadway near the Pageant Ground crusaders and nuns 
 jostled amid motors and cabs of commerce. 
 
 For an hour this mad medley poured through the 
 streets of Merchester. Come with them to the Pa- 
 geant Ground, where all is arranged now and ready, 
 waiting the signal! 
 
 Punctually at half-past two, from his box on the 
 roof of the Grand Stand, Mr. Isidore gave the signal 
 for which the orchestra waited. With a loud out- 
 burst of horns and trumpets and a deep rolling of 
 drums the overture began. 
 
 It was the work of a young musician, ambitious to 
 seize his opportunity. After stating its theme largely, 
 simply, in sixteen strong chords, it broke into variations 
 in which the audience for a few moments might read 
 nothing but cacophonous noise, until a gateway opened 
 288
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 in the old wall, and through it a band of white-robed 
 Druids came streaming towards the stone altar which 
 stood the sole stage "property" in the centre of 
 the green area. Behind them trooped a mob of skin- 
 clothed savages, yelling as they dragged a woman to 
 the sacrifice. It was these yells that the music inter- 
 preted. The Pageant had opened, and was chanting 
 in high wild notes to its own prelude. 
 
 Almost before the spectators realised this, the 
 Arch-Druid had mounted his altar. He held a knife 
 to the victim's throat. But meanwhile the low beat 
 of a march had crept into the music, and was asserting 
 itself more and more insistently beneath the discon- 
 nected outcries. It seemed to grow out of distance, 
 to draw nearer and nearer, as it were the tramp of an 
 armed host. ... It was the tramp of a host. . . . 
 As the Arch-Druid, holding his knife aloft, dragged 
 back the woman's head to lay her throat the barer, all 
 turned to a sudden crash of cymbals; and, to the stern 
 marching-tune now silencing all clamours, the ad- 
 vance-guard of Vespasian swung in through the gate- 
 way. . . . 
 
 So for an hour Saxon followed Roman, Dane fol- 
 lowed Saxon, Norman followed both. Alfred, Canute, 
 William all controlled (as Brother Copas cynically 
 remarked to Brother Warboise, watching through 
 the palings from the allotted patch of sward which 
 served them for green-room) by one small Jew, per- 
 289
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 spiring on the roof and bawling orders here, there, 
 everywhere, through a gigantic megaphone; bawling 
 them in a lingua franca to which these mighty puppets 
 moved obediently, weaving English history as upon 
 a tapestry swiftly, continuously unrolled. "Which 
 things," quoted Copas mischievously, "are an alle- 
 gory, Philip." 
 
 To the waiting performers it seemed incredible that 
 to the audience, packed by thousands in the Grand 
 Stand, this scolding strident voice immediately above 
 their heads should be inaudible. Yet it was. All 
 those eyes beheld, all those ears heard, the puppets as 
 they postured and declaimed. The loud little man on 
 the roof they saw not nor heard. 
 
 " Which things again are an allegory," said Brother 
 Copas. 
 
 The Brethren of St. Hospital had no Episode of 
 their own. But from the time of the Conquest down- 
 ward they had constantly to take part in the moving 
 scenes as members of the crowd, and the spectators 
 constantly hailed their entry. 
 
 " Our coat of poverty is the wear to last, after all," 
 said Copas, regaining the green-room and mopping his 
 brow. " We have just seen out the Plantagenets." 
 
 In this humble way, when the time came he looked 
 on at the Episode of Henry the Eighth's visit to Mer- 
 chester, and listened to the blank verse which he him- 
 self had written. The Pageant Committee had ruled 
 290
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 out the Reformation, but he had slyly introduced a 
 hint of it. The scene consisted mainly of revels, 
 dances, tournays, amid which a singing man had 
 chanted, in a beautiful tenor, Henry's own song of 
 Pastime with good Companye. 
 
 "Pastime with good Companye, 
 I love and shall until I die: 
 Grudge who lust, but none deny, 
 So God be pleased, thus live will I. 
 For my pastance, 
 Hunt, sing and dance, 
 My heart is set. 
 All goodly sport 
 For my comfdrt 
 Who shall me let?" 
 
 With its chorus 
 
 "For Idleness 
 Is chief mistress 
 Of vices all. 
 
 Then who can say 
 
 But mirth and play 
 Is best of all?" 
 
 As to the tune of it their revels ended, Henry and 
 Catherine of Aragon and Charles the Emperor passed 
 from the sunlit stage, one solitary figure the blind 
 Bishop of Merchester lingered, and stretched out 
 his hands for the monks to come and lead him home, 
 stretched out his hands towards the Cathedral behind 
 the green elms. 
 
 291
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Being blind, I trust the light. 
 Ah, Mother Church! If fire must purify, 
 If tribulation search thee, shall I plead 
 Not in my time, Lord ' Nay let me know 
 All dark, yet trust the dawn remembering 
 The order of thy services, thy sweet songs, 
 Thy decent ministrations Levite, priest 
 And sacrifice those antepasts of heaven. 
 We have sinn'd, we have sinn'd! But never 
 
 yet went out 
 
 The flame upon the altar, day or night; 
 And it shall save thee, O Jerusalem! 
 Jerusalem!" 
 
 "And I stole that straight out of Jeremy Taylor," 
 murmured Brother Copas, as the monks led off their 
 Bishop, chanting 
 
 "Crux in caelo lux superna, 
 Sis in carnis hoc taberna 
 Mihi pedibus lucerna 
 
 "Quo vexillum Dux cohortis 
 Sistet, super flumen mortis, 
 Te, flammantibus in portis!" 
 
 -" while I wrote that dog-Latin myself," said Brother 
 Copas, musing, forgetful that he, the author, was 
 lingering on the stage from which he ought to have 
 removed himself three minutes ago with the rest of 
 the crowd. 
 
 292
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 "Ger' out! Get off, zat olt fool! What ze devil 
 you mean by doddling!" 
 
 It was the voice of Mr. Isidore screeching upon 
 him through the megaphone. Brother Copas turned 
 about, uplifting his face to it for a moment with a 
 dazed stare. ... It seemed that, this time, every one 
 in the Grand Stand must have heard. He fled: he 
 made the most ignominious exit in the whole Pageant. 
 The afternoon heat was broiling. ... He had no 
 sooner gained the green-room shade of his elm than 
 the whole of the Brethren were summoned forth anew; 
 this time to assist at the spousals of Queen Mary of 
 England with King Philip of Spain. And this Episode 
 (Number VII on the programme) was Corona's. 
 
 He had meant and again he cursed his forgetful- 
 ness to seek her out at the last moment and whisper 
 a word of encouragement. The child must needs be 
 nervous. . . . 
 
 He had missed his chance now. He followed the 
 troop of Brethren back into the arena and dressed 
 rank with the others, salaaming as the mock poten- 
 tates entered, uttering stage cheers, while inwardly 
 groaning in spirit. His eye kept an anxious sidewise 
 watch on the gateway by which Corona must tmake 
 her entrance. 
 
 She came. But before her, leading the way, strew- 
 ing flowers, came score upon score of children in 
 regiments of colour pale blue, pale yellow, green, 
 293
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 rose, heliotrope. They conducted her to the May 
 Queen's throne, hung it with wreaths, and having 
 paid their homage, ranged off, regiment by regiment, 
 to take their station for the dance. And she, mean- 
 while ? ... If she were nervous, no sign of it betrayed 
 her. She walked to her throne with the air of a small 
 queen. . . . Vera incessu patuit Corona; walked, 
 too, without airs or minaudcries, unconscious of all but 
 the solemn glory. This was the pageant of her be- 
 loved England, and hers for the moment was this 
 proud part in it. Brother Copas brushed his eyes. 
 In his ears buzzed the verse of a psalm 
 
 She shall be brought unto the King in raiment of 
 needle-work: the virgins that be her fellows shall bear 
 her company . . . 
 
 The orchestra struck up a quick-tripping minuet. 
 The regiments advanced on curving lines. They 
 interwove their ranks, making rainbows of colour; 
 they rayed out in broadening bands of colour from 
 Corona's footstool. Through a dozen of these evolu- 
 tions she sat, and took all the homage imperially. 
 It was not given to her, but to the idea for which she 
 was enthroned; and sitting, she nursed the idea in 
 her heart. 
 
 The dance over and twice or thrice as it proceeded 
 the front of the Grand Stand shook with the clapping 
 294
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 of thousands of hands, all agitated together as when 
 a wind passes over a wheatfield. Corona had to 
 arise from her throne, a wreath in either hand, and 
 deliver a speech before Queen Mary. The length of 
 it was just a line and three quarters 
 
 "Lady, accept these perishable flowers. 
 Queen May brings to Queen Mary. . . ." 
 
 She spoke them in a high, clear voice, and all the 
 Grand Stand renewed its clapping as the child did 
 obeisance. 
 
 "First-class!" grunted Brother Warboise at Co- 
 pas's elbow. "Pity old Bonaday couldn't be here to 
 see the girl!" 
 
 "Aye," said Copas; but there was that in his throat 
 which forbade his saying more. 
 
 So the Pageant went on unfolding its scenes. Some 
 of them were merely silly; all of them were false to 
 fact, of course, and a few even false to sentiment. 
 No entry, for example, received a heartier round of 
 British applause than did Nell Gwynn's (Episode IX). 
 Tears actually sprang to many eyes when an orange- 
 girl in the crowd pushed forward offering her wares, 
 and Nell with a gay laugh bought fruit of her, an- 
 nouncing " / was an orange-girl once ! " Brother Copas 
 snorted, and snorted again more loudly when Preben- 
 295
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 dary Ken refused to admit the naughty ex-orange-girl 
 within his episcopal gates. For the audience applauded 
 the protest almost as effusively, and again clapped like 
 mad when the Merry Monarch took the rebuke like 
 a sportsman, promising that " the next Bishopric that 
 falls vacant shall be at this good old man's disposal!" 
 
 Indeed, much of the Pageant was extremely silly. 
 Yet, as it progressed, Brother Copas was not alone 
 in feeling his heart lift with the total effect of it. 
 Here, after all, thousands of people were met in a com- 
 mon pride of England and her history. Distort it as 
 the performers might, and vain, inadequate, as might 
 be the words they declaimed, an idea lay behind it all. 
 These thousands of people were met for a purpose in 
 itself ennobling because unselfish. As often happens 
 on such occasions, the rite took possession of them, 
 seizing on them, surprising them with a sudden glow 
 about the heart, sudden tears in the eyes. This was 
 history of a sort. Towards the close, when the elm 
 shadows began to stretch across the green stage, even 
 careless spectators began to catch this infection of 
 nobility this feeling that we are indeed greater than 
 we know. 
 
 In the last act all the characters from early Briton 
 to Georgian dame trooped together into the arena. 
 In groups marshalled at haphazard they chanted with 
 full hearts the final hymn, and the audience unbidden 
 joined in chorus 
 
 296
 
 FINIS CORONAT OPUS 
 
 "O God! our help in ages past, 
 Our hope for years to come, 
 Our shelter from the stormy blast 
 And our eternal home!" 
 
 "Where is the child?" asked Brother Copas, glanc- 
 ing through the throng. 
 
 He found her in the thick of the press, unable to see 
 anything for the crowd about her, and led her off to a 
 corner where, by the southern end of the Grand Stand, 
 some twenty Brethren of St. Hospital stood shouting 
 in company 
 
 "A thousand evenings in Thy sight 
 
 Are like an evening gone, 
 Short as the watch that ends the night 
 Before the rising sun." 
 
 "She can't see. Lift her higher!" sang out a voice 
 Brother Royle's. 
 
 By happy chance at the edge of the group stood tall, 
 good-natured Alderman Chope who had impersonated 
 Alfred the Great. The Brethren begged his shield 
 from him, and mounted Corona upon it, all holding 
 it by its rim while they chanted 
 
 "The busy tribes of flesh and blood, 
 
 With all their hopes and fears, 
 Are carried downward by the flood 
 And lost in following years. 
 297
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 "Time, like an ever-rolling stream, 
 
 Bears all its sons away; 
 They fly forgotten, as a dream 
 Dies at the opening day. 
 
 "O God! our help in ages past, 
 Our hope for years to come; 
 Be Thou our guard while troubles last 
 And our perpetual home!" 
 
 Corona lifted her voice and sang with the old men; 
 while among the excited groups the swallows skimmed 
 boldly over the meadow, as they had skimmed every 
 summer's evening since English History began. 
 
 298
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 BROTHER COPAS walked homeward along the river- 
 path, his gaunt hands gathering his Beauchamp robe 
 behind him for convenience of stride. Ahead of him 
 and around him the swallows circleted over the water- 
 meads or swooped their breasts close to the current of 
 Mere. Beside him strode his shadow, and lengthened 
 as the sun westered in a haze of potable gold. In the 
 haze swam evening odours of mints, grasses, herbs of 
 grace and virtue named in old pharmacopoeias as most 
 medicinal for man, now forgotten, if not nameless. 
 
 The sunset breathed benediction. To many who 
 walked homeward that evening it seemed in that 
 benediction to enwrap the centuries of history they 
 had so feverishly been celebrating, and to fold them 
 softly away as a garment. But Brother Copas heeded 
 it not. He was eager to reach St. Hospital and carry 
 report to his old friend. 
 
 "Upon my word, it was an entire success. ... I 
 have criticised the Bambergers enough to have earned 
 a right to admit it. In the end a sort of sacred fury 
 took hold of the whole crowd, and in the midst of it 
 
 we held her up Corona on a shield " 
 
 299
 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 Brother Bonaday lay panting. He had struggled 
 through an attack sharper than any previous one 
 so much sharper that he knew the end to be not far 
 distant, and only asked for the next to be swift. 
 
 " And she was just splendid," said Brother Copas. 
 " She had that unconscious way of stepping out of the 
 past, with a crown on her head. My God, old friend, 
 if I had that child for a daughter " 
 
 Brother Bonaday lay and panted, not seeming to 
 hear, still with his eyes upturned to the ceiling of his 
 narrow cell. They scanned it as if feebly groping a 
 passage through. 
 
 "I ought to have told you," he muttered "More 
 than once I meant tried to tell you." 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 Brother Copas bent lower. 
 
 "She Corona never was my child. . . . Give 
 me your hand. . . . No, no; it *s the truth, now. 
 Her mother ran away from me ... and she, Corona, 
 was born ... a year after ... in America . . . 
 Coronation year. The man her father died when 
 she was six months old, and the woman . . . knowing 
 that I was always weak " 
 
 He panted, very feebly. Brother Copas, still hold- 
 ing his hand, leaned forward. 
 
 "Then she died, too. . . . What does it matter? 
 Her message. . . . 'Bluff/ you would call it. ... 
 But she knew me. She was always decided in her 
 300
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 dealings ... to the end. I want to sleep now. . . . 
 That's a good man!" 
 
 Brother Copas, seeking complete solitude, found 
 it in the dusk of the garden beyond the Ambulatory. 
 There, repelling the benediction of sunset that still 
 lingered in the west, he lifted his face to the planet 
 Jupiter, already establishing its light in a clear space 
 of sky. 
 
 " Lord ! " he ingeminated, " forgive me who counted 
 myself the ironeist of St. Hospital!" 
 
 THE END 
 
 301
 
 Novels and Stories by "Q" 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 BROTHER COPAS 
 
 This story deals with an English charitable hos- 
 pital for elderly gentlemen a sort of blend of the 
 Charterhouse and St. Cross at Winchester. The in- 
 mates of the hospital having nothing to do but squabble, 
 have reduced this happy home to a little cockpit of bad 
 blood and scandalous gossip. The community is ruled 
 by a dear old easy-going warden, full of beautiful in- 
 tentions, but too indolent to grasp the nettle, and actively 
 governed by a domineering sub-warden of the new 
 high-churchman type; and the gist of the tale is the 
 reclamation of this effete brotherhood by the presence 
 of a small child within its walls, its innocence teaching 
 them to forget their selfishness and their hopelessness 
 for they are all shipwrecked lives in a new hope for 
 the child's success. 
 
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 " Q " has never done better. We congratulate him on 
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 The Splendid Spur Noughts and Crosses 
 
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 A 000 OS 944*?