st months
to north, south, east and west. So custom had not staled his
variety of appeal to the outer circle of citizens or villagers.
They, as well as the devotees, thronged the nave. At the leper
windows there were knots of dark participants in the service.

The windows gave; a few the chance of sight, but they were only
five in number, and it would seem that many had to be content
with very scanty views. It is questionable whether a number of
the smaller folk nurse-boys, kitchen boys and telegraph
messengers got any sort of a glance ere the pageantry was over.

The night was very clear; the autumn wind was somewhat bitter.

The hymn after the Blessing had been reached 'Brief life is here
our portion' and the banners streamed down the central aisle in
glory. The leper windows grew very starry with observation.

One boy who had come late had no chance of a view now. He was the
Bishop's coachman, a lanky Bechuana, and he stood humming the
hymn's air with his back to a window a window near the western
door. Suddenly he started. Somebody was striding up to the porch.
Surely there was no mistaking Mr. Conyers Smythe's fine shoulders
in that figure nor the jaunty carriage of his massive head. Now
he drew near, and the light of the porch-lamp fell upon him.

The coachman caught the arm of his stable-boy, who was standing
next to him a rather Jewish-looking Mashona.

'Look! look!' he cried.

They both watched the churchgoer as he passed up the steps. Then
he was gone from their view.

In the afternoon of the next day, when the triumphal services of
Dedication were over, the Bishop was being driven to a farmhouse
not very far distant. It was not till his mule-cart had almost
reached home again that his driver ventured to question him. He
had seemed rather preoccupied that driver all the dusty journey.
Now he asked a question that was being wildly debated in native
circles that very afternoon. 'My lord, has Mr. Smythe paid all
the thousand pounds yet?'

The Bishop started and stared; then he laughed. 'What do you know
of Mr. Smythe's thousand pounds?' he asked. Then he answered,
'No, Jack; why should he?'

Why indeed? So Mombe, the ox-man to give him his native name was
trying to evade his obligations, was he? Almost bursting with
importance, Jack told his master what Jim and he had seen last
night. The Bishop listened carefully, and asked two or three
questions. Then he told Jack that he might want him and his
s