me. She was already on her way. Yes or no, it could make no
difference."

"It makes this difference: suppose that the Master refuses, you have
lost four days in which you might have found her a suitable lodging.
What's the child's name, by the by?

"Corona, it seems."

"Seems?"

"She was born just after her mother left me and went to America,
having a little money of her own saved out of our troubles." Again
Brother Copas, in the act of making a cast, glanced back over his
shoulder, but Brother Bonaday's eyes were on the swallows.
"In 1902 it was, the year of King Edward's coronation: yes, that will
be why my wife chose the name. . . . I suppose, as you say,"
Brother Bonaday went on after a pause, "I ought to have spoken to the
Master at once; but I put it off, the past being painful to me."

"Yet you told Nurse Branscome."

"Someone--some woman--had to be told. The child must be met, you
see."

"H'm. . . . Well, I am glad, anyway, that you told me whilst there
was yet a chance of my being useful; being, as you may or may not
have observed, inclined to jealousy in matters of friendship."

This time Brother Copas kept his face averted, and made a fresh cast
across stream with more than ordinary care. The fly dropped close
under the far bank, and by a bare six inches clear of a formidable
alder. He jerked the rod backward, well pleased with his skill.

"That was a pretty good one, eh?"

But clever angling was thrown away upon Brother Bonaday, whom
preoccupation with trouble had long ago made unobservant.
Brother Copas reeled in a few feet of his line.

"You'll bear in mind that, if the Master should refuse and you're
short of money for a good lodging, I have a pound or two laid by.
We must do what we can for the child; coming, as she will, from the
other side of the world."

"That is kind of you, Copas," said Brother Bonaday slowly, his
eyes fixed now on the reel, the whirring click of which drew his
attention, so that he seemed to address his speech to it.
"It is very kind, and I thank you. But I hope the Master will not
refuse: though, to tell you the truth, there is another small
difficulty which makes me shy of asking him a favour."

"Eh? What is it?"

Brother Bonaday twisted his thin fingers together. "I--I had
promised, before I got this letter, to stand by Warboise. I feel
rather strongly on these matters, you know--though, of course, not so
strongly as he does--and I promised to suppo