hand,
smooths his ear, under the mistaken impression that the ticking feeling
is there, and then goes on solemnly with his discourse, which is dryer
than the weather, which is saying a good deal. He moves his head
impatiently from side to side, but gains nothing by this, as the cobweb
is apparently of an affectionate disposition, and goes with him wherever
he listeth.

Dicky Browne is entranced. _Such_ an interlude was more than he had
hoped for. Involuntarily he lays his hand on Dulce's arm, and, giving
her a mild pinch, shows her the cause of his apparent joy.

"If the flooring gives way he'll die the death of Absalom," he says,
gravely, whereupon Miss Blount also, I grieve to say, gives way to
silent but wild mirth.

The rector waxes warm. The cobweb, giving up the hair as a bad job, has
relinquished its hold, and is now mildly touching his cheek, in a
somewhat coquettish fashion. Mr. Grainger, with a short but decisive
gesture, drags it, and its many yards of spider-workmanship to the
ground. The cobweb and the spider suffer--but they have their revenge.
Mr. Grainger is embarrassed with the cobweb, which has twined itself
loving round his finger, and not until he has lost his place in his
sermon and grown very red in the face, is serenity restored.

The rural congregation shows every symptom of being able to fall at a
moment's notice into the arms of Morpheus. The curate grows leaner, more
toil-worn, more ascetic. The rector drones away. The Boodie, having
walked up and down the pew several times, has finally come to anchor in
Uncle Christopher's arms, and having flung her little white bonnet from
her, has now snuggled her head inside his coat, and is intently
listening to what appears to be a very lengthened whisper from him. It
seems to be a whisper without an end, and one undesirous of response.
Indeed, there is a legend extant that Uncle Christopher employs his time
during the sermon, whenever the Boodie is with him, in telling her tales
of fairyland, not to be surpassed by Grimm or Andersen!

The rector bleats on incessantly; faintly and more faintly his voice
seems to reach his flock. The sun beats with undying fervor upon the
gables outside and the bald heads of the parishioners within. There is a
great sense of quiet everywhere, with only the rector's voice to disturb
it, when suddenly upon the startled ear falls a sound, ambiguous, but
distinct.

It is a snore! An undeniable snore! and it emanates f