nt again. "It has been _here_ all the
time."

"Yes, yes," the Major sighed impatiently. "Still, it's upsetting,
you'll admit."

"The end of the world!" Miss Marty gripped her apron, as if to cast
it over her head.

"The Millennium, Miss Marty, is not the end of the world."

"Oh, isn't it?"

"It merely means that Satan will be bound for a thousand years to
come."

"If that's all"--Miss Marty walked to the bell-rope--"there's no harm
in ringing for Scipio to bring in the omelet."

"I beg your pardon?" The Vicar, not for the first time, found it
difficult to follow Miss Marty's train of thought.

"Scipio never repeats what he hears at table: I'll say that for him.
And I believe in feeding people up."

The Vicar turned to Major Hymen, who had pushed back his chair and
was staring at the tablecloth from under a puckered brow.

"I fear this has come upon you somewhat suddenly: but my first
thought, as soon as I had convinced myself--"

"Thank you, Vicar. I appreciate that, of course."

"And, after all--when you come to think of it--an event of this
magnitude, happening in your mayoralty--"

"Will they knight him, do you think?" asked Miss Marty.

While the Vicar considered his answer, on top of this interruption
came another--Scipio entering with the omelet. Now the entrance of
the Major's omelet was a daily ritual. It came on a silver dish,
heated by a small silver spirit-lamp, on a tray covered by a spotless
linen cloth. Scipio, its cook and compounder, bore it with
professional pride, supporting the dish on one palm bent backwards,
and held accurately level with his shoulder; whence, by a curious and
quite indescribable turn of the wrist (Scipio was double-jointed),
during which for one fearful tenth of a second they seemed to hang
upside down, he would bring tray, lamp, dish and omelet down with a
sweep, and deposit them accurately in front of the Major's plate, at
the same instant bringing his heels together and standing at
attention for his master's approval.

"Well done, Scipio!" the Major would say, nine days out of ten.

But to-day he pushed the tray from him pettishly, ignoring Scipio.

"You'll excuse me"--he turned to the Vicar--"but if what you say is
correct (you may go, Scipio) it puts me in a position of some
responsibility."

"I felt sure you would see it in that light. It's a responsibility
for me, too."

"To-day is the twenty-fifth. We have little more than a month."

"Wh