that the
colonel was interested in the church he did not waste any speculations.
There only remained the blacksmith's shop, and though the blacksmith was
a Puritan and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals
about a beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look
across the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him.

"Good morning, Wilfred," he said. "Like a good landlord I am watching
sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith."

Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: "The blacksmith is out. He is
over at Greenford."

"I know," answered the other with silent laughter; "that is why I am
calling on him."

"Norman," said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, "are
you ever afraid of thunderbolts?"

"What do you mean?" asked the colonel. "Is your hobby meteorology?"

"I mean," said Wilfred, without looking up, "do you ever think that God
might strike you in the street?"

"I beg your pardon," said the colonel; "I see your hobby is folk-lore."

"I know your hobby is blasphemy," retorted the religious man, stung in
the one live place of his nature. "But if you do not fear God, you have
good reason to fear man."

The elder raised his eyebrows politely. "Fear man?" he said.

"Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty
miles round," said the clergyman sternly. "I know you are no coward or
weakling, but he could throw you over the wall."

This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril
darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his
face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good
humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow
moustache. "In that case, my dear Wilfred," he said quite carelessly,
"it was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in
armour."

And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that
it was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light
Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old
family hall.

"It was the first hat to hand," explained his brother airily; "always
the nearest hat--and the nearest woman."

"The blacksmith is away at Greenford," said Wilfred quietly; "the time
of his return is unsettled."

And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head,
crossing himself like one who wishes to be quit o