g on his finger--'I should be slow--ve-ry slow should I be--to assume
that a certain sort of miracle happens whenever lazy and improvident
people say they are going to turn over a new leaf if they are paid for
it. My friend Meon had sent his slaves to the font, but he had not come
himself, so the next time I rode over--to return a manuscript--I took
the liberty of asking why. He was perfectly open about it. He looked on
the King's action as a heathen attempt to curry favour with the
Christians' God through me the Archbishop, and he would have none of it.
"My dear man," I said, "admitting that that is the case, surely you, as
an educated person, don't believe in Wotan and all the other hobgoblins
any more than Padda here." The old seal was hunched up on his ox-hide
behind his master's chair.

'"Even if I don't," he said, "why should I insult the memory of my
fathers' Gods? I have sent you a hundred and three of my rascals to
christen. Isn't that enough?"

'"By no means," I answered. "I want _you_."

'"He wants us! What do you think of that, Padda?" He pulled the seal's
whiskers till it threw back its head and roared, and he pretended to
interpret. "No! Padda says he won't be baptized yet awhile. He says
you'll stay to dinner and come fishing with me to-morrow, because you're
overworked and need a rest."

'"I wish you'd keep yon brute in its proper place," I said, and Eddi, my
chaplain, agreed.

'"I do," said Meon. "I keep him just next my heart. He can't tell a lie,
and he doesn't know how to love any one except me. It 'ud be the same if
I were dying on a mud-bank, wouldn't it, Padda?"

'"Augh! Augh!" said Padda, and put up his head to be scratched.

'Then Meon began to tease Eddi: "Padda says, if Eddi saw his Archbishop
dying on a mud-bank Eddi would tuck up his gown and run. Padda knows
Eddi can run too! Padda came into Wittering Church last Sunday--all
wet--to hear the music, and Eddi ran out."

'My good Eddi rubbed his hands and his shins together, and flushed.
"Padda is a child of the Devil, who is the father of lies!" he cried,
and begged my pardon for having spoken. I forgave him.

'"Yes. You are just about stupid enough for a musician," said Meon. "But
here he is. Sing a hymn to him, and see if he can stand it. You'll find
my small harp beside the fireplace."

'Eddi, who is really an excellent musician, played and sang for quite
half an hour. Padda shuffled off his ox-hide, hunched himself on his
flip