chool, and was in the act of picking up a stone to throw at Lina Potts,
whom he bitterly hated, when the Rectory carriage drove past the village
green. At once every hand, including Billy's, went promptly to the
corner of its owner's mouth, hoops were suspended in mid-career, and
half-sucked lollipops, in process of transference from big sisters to
little brothers were allowed an interval for getting dry. The carriage
passed; stones, hoops, and lollipops resumed their circulation, and by
five o'clock in the afternoon the news of Chandrapal's arrival was
waiting for the returning labourer in every cottage in Deadborough.

That night I repaired to the Nag's Head, for I knew that the arrival
would have a favourable effect on the size of the "house." I am not
addicted, let me say, to Tom Barter's vile liquors; but I have some
fondness for the psychology of a village pub, and I was in hopes that
the conversation in this instance would be instructive. An unusually
large company was assembled, and to that extent I was not disappointed.
But in respect of the conversation it must be confessed that I drew a
blank. The tongues of the talkers seemed to be paralysed by the very
event which I had hoped would set them all wagging. It was evident that
every man present had come in the hopes that his neighbour would have
something to say about Chandrapal, and thus provide an opening for his
own eloquence. But nobody gave a lead, the whole company being
apparently in presence of a speech-defying portent. At last I broke the
ice by an allusion to the arrival. "Ah," said one. "Oh," said another.
"Indeed," said a third. "You don't say so," said a fourth. At length one
venturesome spirit remarked, "I hear as he's a great man in his own
country." "I dare say he is," replied the village butcher, with the air
of one to whom the question of human greatness was a matter of absolute
indifference. That was the end. Shortly afterwards I left, and presently
overtook Snarley Bob, who had preceded me. "Did you ever see such a lot
o' tongue-tied lunatics?" said Snarley. "What made them silent?" I
asked. "They'd got too much to say," answered Snarley, and then added,
rather mischievously, "They were only waitin' to begin till _you'd_
gone. If you was to go back now, you'd hear 'em barkin' like a pack o'
hounds."

* * * * *

Among the many good offices for which Snarley had to thank Mrs. Abel,
not the least was her systema