, you don't say so!"

--"Took it from me, held it derisively between finger and thumb, and
muttered. I could not catch all that he said, but I distinctly heard
the words 'biscuit' and 'Antichrist.' Indeed, he confesses to having
used them. His demeanour left no doubt that he was insolent of set
purpose. . . . I should add that Ibbetson, who was kneeling next to
him and must have overheard, walked back from the altar-rail straight
out of chapel; but his wife assures me that this was purely a
coincidence, and due to a sudden weakness of the stomach."

"You have spoken to Warboise?"

"Yes, and he is defiant. Says that bread is bread, and--when I
pressed him for a definition--asked (insolently again) if the
Trustees had authorised our substituting biscuit for bread in the
Wayfarers' Dole. Advised us to 'try it on' there, and look out for
letters in the _Merchester Observer_. He even threatened--if you'll
believe me--to write to the Press himself. In short, he was beyond
all self-control."

"I was afraid," murmured the Master, flushing a little in his
distress, "you would not introduce this--er--primitive use--or, I
should say, restore it--without trouble. Brother Warboise has strong
Protestant prejudices; passionate, even."

"And ignorant."

"Oh, of course, of course! Still--"

"I suggest that, living as he does on the Church's benefaction,
eating the bread of her charity--"

The Chaplain paused, casting about for a third phrase to express
Brother Warboise's poor dependence.

The Master smiled whimsically.

"'The bread'--that's just it, he would tell you . . . And Alberic de
Blanchminster, moreover, was a layman, not even in any of the minor
orders; so that, strictly speaking--"

"But he left his wealth expressly to be administered by the Church.
. . . Will you forgive me, Master, if I repeat very respectfully the
suggestion I made at the beginning? If you could see your way to be
celebrant at the early office, your mere presence would silence these
mutineers. The Brethren respect your authority without question,
and, the ice once broken, they would come to heel as one man."

The Master shook his head tremulously, in too much of a flurry even
to note the Chaplain's derangement of metaphors.

"You cannot guess how early rising upsets me. Doctor Ainsley,
indeed, positively forbids it. . . . I can sympathise, you see, with
Ibbetson . . . and, for Brother Warboise, let us always remember that
St.