eon worked. He would
tell the seal to go down to the beach the last thing at night, and
bring him word of the weather. When it came back, Meon might say to his
slaves, "Padda thinks we shall have wind tomorrow. Haul up the boats!" I
spoke to Meon casually about the story, and he laughed.

'He told me he could judge by the look of the creature's coat and the
way it sniffed what weather was brewing. Quite possible. One need
not put down everything one does not understand to the work of bad
spirits--or good ones, for that matter.' He nodded towards Puck, who
nodded gaily in return.

'I say so,' he went on, 'because to a certain extent I have been made a
victim of that habit of mind. Some while after I was settled at Selsey,
King Ethelwalch and Queen Ebba ordered their people to be baptized. I
fear I'm too old to believe that a whole nation can change its heart at
the King's command, and I had a shrewd suspicion that their real motive
was to get a good harvest. No rain had fallen for two or three years,
but as soon as we had finished baptizing, it fell heavily, and they all
said it was a miracle.'

'And was it?' Dan asked.

'Everything in life is a miracle, but'--the Archbishop twisted the heavy
ring 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 di