me
icicles hang by the wall and milk comes frozen home in the pail--or in
summer when days are at their longest and the mowing grass is about--there
will be an hour, either at morn, or eve, or in the middle day, when he
will again surely come. May it be mine to be among those who are then
present to receive him."

Here he again glared at my father, whose blood was boiling. George had
not positively forbidden him to speak out; he therefore sprang to his
feet, "You lying hound," he cried, "I am the Sunchild, and you know it."

George, who knew that he had my father in his own hands, made no attempt
to stop him, and was delighted that he should have declared himself
though he had felt it his duty to tell him not to do so. Yram turned
pale. Hanky roared out, "Tear him in pieces--leave not a single limb on
his body. Take him out and burn him alive." The vergers made a dash for
him--but George's brothers seized them. The crowd seemed for a moment
inclined to do as Hanky bade them, but Yram rose from her place, and held
up her hand as one who claimed attention. She advanced towards George
and my father as unconcernedly as though she were merely walking out of
church, but she still held her hand uplifted. All eyes were turned on
her, as well as on George and my father, and the icy calm of her self-
possession chilled those who were inclined for the moment to take Hanky's
words literally. There was not a trace of fluster in her gait, action,
or words, as she said--

"My friends, this temple, and this day, must not be profaned with blood.
My son will take this poor madman to the prison. Let him be judged and
punished according to law. Make room, that he and my son may pass."

Then, turning to my father, she said, "Go quietly with the Ranger."

Having so spoken, she returned to her seat as unconcernedly as she had
left it.

Hanky for a time continued to foam at the mouth and roar out, "Tear him
to pieces! burn him alive!" but when he saw that there was no further
hope of getting the people to obey him, he collapsed on to a seat in his
pulpit, mopped his bald head, and consoled himself with a great pinch of
a powder which corresponds very closely to our own snuff.

George led my father out by the side door at the north end of the western
aisle; the people eyed him intently, but made way for him without
demonstration. One voice alone was heard to cry out, "Yes, he is the
Sunchild!" My father glanced at the speak