y the brilliancy
of the result; "but you might be took, below, for a Lifeguardsman!"

[Illustration: Bilked by a Bishop.]

"Hush," said the Bishop, though with a gratification he could not
restrain, "would you recall the demon I strove to exorcise! It is
true that the change is less of a disfigurement than I feared--ahem,
_hoped_--but after all, may not the wish to please the eye of man be
excusable? You shall receive a rich reward. Do you happen to have such
a thing as change for a five-pound note about you?"

"Alas!" replied the lad, with ready presence of mind, "but I have only
just paid all my gold into my bank for the day!"

"No matter," said the Bishop, gently. "I find I have a threepenny
bit, after all. It is yours!" And the good ecclesiastic, as if to
avoid thanks, moved nimbly off, though his eyes still sought the
shop-windows as he passed, with even greater complacency than before.

BEN tested the threepenny bit between his teeth--it was a spurious
coin; he looked up, but his late customer was already passed out of
hearing of his sentiments. He sank down with his head laid amongst
his pots and brushes. "Bilked!" he moaned piteously, "bilked--and by a
blooming Bishop!"

CHAPTER IV.

But mark the sequel. The good Bishop had been quite ignorant that the
threepenny bit was a pewter one; quite sincere, for the time, in his
determination to subdue his own weakness. Still it was not to be:
inbred pride is not so easily vanquished--even by Bishops! The Bishop
learned to glory in his blacking far more than he had ever done in the
original mahogany. He had it continually renewed, and with the most
expensive compositions. He would bend enraptured over the burnished
surfaces of his extended legs, gazing, like another Narcissus, at the
features he saw so faithfully repeated.

Meanwhile the threepence, base as it was, became the humble instrument
of brighter fortunes to BRUSTLES; it showed a marvellous aptitude
for turning up tails, which BEN no sooner perceived than he availed
himself of a blessing that had, indeed, come to him in disguise!

But the Bishop--what of him? Nemesis overtook him at last. The
discontent long smouldering in his diocese broke out into a climax.
Thousands of Curates, inflamed by professional agitators, went out on
strike, and their first victim was the Bishop of TIMBERTOWS, who was
discovered prostrate one dark night by his horrified Chaplain. He had
been picketed as a Blackleg!

THE