ke from a schooner's galley (the _Ranting Blade_, with
her figure-head repainted, but otherwise much the same as ever).
Miss Jex, the postmistress, still peered over her blind. She studied
the Major's wooden leg with interest. He, on his part, seemed to
detect that the down on her upper lip had sensibly lightened in
colour. _En revanche_, from the corner of his eye, as he passed the
open door, he saw that the portrait over the counter (supposed of
yore to represent the Prince Regent) wore a frame of black ribbon.
The black, alas! was rusty.

The manners of the children had not improved. Half a dozen urchins,
running into him here by the corner of the post-office on their way
from school, fell back in a ring and began to call "Boney!"
derisively. He escaped from them into the churchyard, and passing up
between the graves, rested for a while, panting in the cool of the
porch.

The door stood ajar. Pushing it open, he stepped within and paused
again, half terrified by the unfamiliar _tap-tap_ of his wooden leg
on the pavement. The sunshine lay in soft panels of light across the
floor, and ran in sharper lines along the tops of the pews, worn to a
polish by generations of hands that had opened and shut their doors.
Aloft, where the rays filtered through the clerestory windows, their
innumerable motes swam like gold-dust held in solution.

The Major found his own pew, dropped into the familiar seat, and
strove to collect his thoughts. A week ago, on his way from
Plymouth, it had seemed the easiest thing in the world to reveal
himself and step back into his own. The only question had been how
to select the most impressive moment.

His eyes, travelling along the wall on his right, encountered an
unfamiliar monument among the many familiar ones; an oval slab of
black marble enclosed in a gilt wreath and inscribed with gilt
lettering. He leaned forward, peering closer, blinking against the
sunlight that poured through the window.

SACRED
TO THE MEMORY OF
SOLOMON HYMEN, ESQUIRE
SEVEN TIMES MAYOR OF THIS BOROUGH
AND
MAJOR COMMANDING THE TROY VOLUNTEER ARTILLERY
UNFORTUNATELY AND UNTIMELY
SLAIN IN ACTION
OFF THE COAST OF FRANCE NEAR BOULOGNE
ON MAY 15TH, MDCCIV.
THI