t call a cocktail," she confided. "The
tiredest traveller wouldn't ask for crushed ice to it, not with a
solid William-the-Conqueror wall to lean against."

Brother Copas admitted that the tenuity of the Wayfarer's Ale had not
always escaped the Wayfarer's criticism. He was about to explain
that, in a country of vested interests, publicans and teetotallers
agreed to require that beer supplied _gratis_ in the name of charity
must be innocuous and unenticing. But at this moment Brother Manby
signalled from his lodge that the procession was approaching across
the outer court, and he hurried away to join the crowd of Brethren in
their scramble upstairs to the Hundred Men's Hall.

The procession hove in sight; in number about a dozen, walking
two-and-two, headed by Master Blanchminster and the Bishop.
Nurse Branscome stepped across to the child and stood by her,
whispering the names of the dignitaries as they drew near.
The dear little gaitered white-headed clergyman--the one in the
college cap--was the Master; the tall one, likewise in gaiters, the
Bishop.

"--and the gentleman behind him is Mr. Yeo, the Mayor of Merchester.
That's the meaning of his chain, you know."

"Why, is he dangerous?" asked Corona.

"His chain of office, dear. It's the rule in England."

"You don't say! . . . Over in America we've never thought of that: we
let our grafters run loose. But who's the tall one next to him?
My! but can't you see him, Branny, with his long legs crossed?"

Branny was puzzled.

"--on a tomb, in chain armour, with his hands _so_." Corona put her
two palms together, as in the act of prayer.

"Oh, I see! Well, as it happens, his house has a private chapel with
five or six of just those tombs--all of his ancestors. He's Sir John
Shaftesbury, and he's pricked for High Sheriff next year. One of the
oldest families in the county; in all England, indeed. Everyone
loves and respects Sir John."

"Didn't I say so!" The small palms were pressed together
ecstatically. "And does he keep a dwarf, same as they used to?"

"Eh? . . . If you mean the little man beside him, with the
straw-coloured gloves, that's Mr. Bamberger; Mr. Julius Bamberger,
our Member of Parliament."

"Say that again, please."

The child looked up, wide-eyed.

"He's our Member of Parliament for Merchester; immensely rich, they
say."

"Well," decided Corona after a moment's thought, "I'm going to
pretend he isn't, anyway. I'm going to p