p," snarled Carmichael. "Can't you hear them coming?"

And the tramp of the shooting-boots, which Dr. Methuen was still new
chum enough to wear, followed by the chaplain's lighter step, drew
noisily nearer upon the unseen part of the veranda that encircled the
whole house.

"Stand up, you cripples!" cried Carmichael over his shoulder, in a stage
whisper. And they all came to their feet as the two ecclesiastics
appeared behind the table at the open end of the tabernacle.

Carmichael felt inclined to disperse the congregation on the spot.

There was the Bishop still in his gaiters and his yellow dust-coat; even
the chaplain had not taken the trouble to don his surplice. So anything
was good enough for Mulfera! Carmichael had lunged forward with a
jutting jaw when an authoritative voice rang out across the table.

"Sit down!"

The Bishop had not opened his hairy mouth. It was the smart young
chaplain who spoke. And all obeyed except Carmichael.

"I beg your lordship's pardon," he was beginning, with sarcastic
emphasis, when the manager of Mulfera was cut as short as he was himself
in the habit of cutting his inferiors.

"If you will kindly sit down," cried the chaplain, "like everybody else,
I shall at once explain the apparent irregularity upon which you were
doubtless about to comment."

Carmichael glowered through his glasses for a few seconds, and then
resumed his seat with a shrug and a murmur, happily inaudible to all but
his two immediate neighbors.

"On his way here this morning," the chaplain went on, "his lordship met
with a misadventure from which he has not yet recovered sufficiently to
address you as he fully hoped and intended to do to-day." At this all
eyes sped to the Bishop, who stood certainly in a drooping attitude at
the chaplain's side, his episcopal hands behind his back. "Something
happened," the glib spokesman continued with stern eyes, "something that
you do not often hear of in these days. His lordship was accosted,
beset, and, like the poor man in the Scriptures, despitefully entreated,
not many miles beyond your own boundary, by a pair of armed ruffians!"

"Stuck up!" cried one or two, and "Bushrangers!" one or two more.

"I thank you for both words," said the chaplain, bowing. "He was stuck
up by the bushranger who is once more abroad in the land. Really, Mr.
Carmichael----"

But the manager of Mulfera rose to his full height, and, leaning back to
get the speaker into focus, stuc