places at the high table.

St. Hospital used a long Latin grace on holy-days; "and," Brother
Copas had once observed, "the market-price of Latinity in England
will ensure that we always have at least one Brother capable of
repeating it."

" . . . _Gratias agimus pro Alberico de Albo Monasterio, in fide
defuncto_--"

Here Brother Copas paused, and the Brethren responded "_Amen!_"

"_Ac pro Henrico de Bello Campo, Cardinali_."

As the grace proceeded Brother Copas dwelt on the broad vowels with
gusto.

"..._Itaque precamur; Miserere nostri, te quaesumus Domine, tuisque
donis, quae de tua benignitate percepturi sumus, benedicito.
Per Jesum Christum, Dominum nostrum. Amen_."

His eyes wandered down to the carving-table, where Brother Biscoe
stood ready, as his turn was, to direct and apportion the helpings.
He bowed to the dignitaries on the dais, and walked to his place at
the board next to Brother Warboise.

"Old Biscoe's carving," he announced as he took his seat. "You and I
will have to take a slice of _odium theologicum_ together, for auld
lang syne."

Sure enough, when his helping of duck came to him, it was the back.
Brother Warboise received another back for his portion.

"Courage, Brother Ridley!" murmured Copas, "you and I this day have
raised a couple of backs that will not readily be put down."

Nurse Branscome had been surprised when Brother Warboise accosted the
Bishop. She could not hear what he said, but guessed that something
unusual was happening. A glance at the two or three groups of women
confirmed this, and when the procession moved on, she walked across
to the nearest, taking Corona by the hand.

The first she addressed happened to be Mrs. Royle.

"Whatever was Brother Warboise doing just now?" she asked.

Mrs. Royle hunched her shoulders, and turned to Mrs. Ibbetson.

"There's worse scandals in St. Hospital," said she with a sniff,
"than ever old Warboise has nosed. Eh, ma'am?"

"One can well believe that, Mrs. Royle," agreed Mrs. Ibbetson, fixing
an eye of disapproval on the child.

"And I am quite sure of it," agreed Nurse Branscome candidly; "though
what you mean is a mystery to me."

CHAPTER VII.

LOW AND HIGH TABLES.

"This," said Brother Copas sweetly, turning over his portion of roast
duck and searching for some flesh on it, "is not a duck at all, but a
pelican, bird of wrath. See, it has devoured its own breast."

Beside the dais, at the eastern end