t," called back Brother Copas, still looking over his
shoulder while his right hand extended the plate. "His turn is just
called, and I am getting it for him."

Strange to say, his voice reached the Nurse across an almost dead
silence; for the laughter had died down at sight of a child--Corona--
beside her in the doorway.

"But your plate will be cold. Here, change it for mine!"

"Well thought upon! Wait a second!"

But before Brother Copas could withdraw the plate a dollop of meat
had been dumped upon it.

"Eh? but wait--look here!--"

He turned about, stared at the plate, stared from the plate to the
dish of scrag. The meat on the plate was pork, and the dish of scrag
was empty. Brother Inchbald had changed his mind at the last moment
and chosen mutton.

The Brethren, led by Mrs. Royle, cackled again at sight of his
dismay. One or two still hustled Brother Biscoe as he fought his way
to the foot of the refectory steps, at the head of which Nurse
Branscome barred the exit, with Corona holding fast by her hand and
wondering.

"But what is it all about?" asked the child.

"Hush!" The Nurse squeezed her hand, meaning that she must have
courage. "We have come too late, and the dinner is all shared up--or
all of it that would do your father good."

"But"--Corona dragged her small hand loose--"there is plenty left;
and when they know he is sick they will make it all right. . . .
If you please, sir," she spoke up, planting her small body in front
of Brother Biscoe as he would have pushed past with his plate, "my
father is sick, and Nurse says he must not eat the meat that's left
on the dish there. Won't you give me that on your plate?"

She stretched out a hand for it, and Brother Biscoe, spent with
senile wrath at this last interruption of his escape, was snatching
back the food, ready to curse her, when Brother Copas came battling
through the press, holding both his plates high and hailing
cheerfully.

"I forgot," he panted, and held up the plate in his left hand.
"Bonaday can have the knuckle. I had first choice to-day."

"He ought not to eat roasted meat," said Nurse Branscome slowly.
"I am sorry. You are good and will be disappointed. The smallest
bit of boiled, now--were it only the scrag--"

"Why," bustled Brother Copas, "Brother Biscoe has the very thing,
then--the two best cutlets at the bottom of the neck. And, what's
more, he'll be only too glad to exchange 'em for the roast knuckle