an that you behold something pleasant with me," retorted the
cook; "and of a verity, your reverence----"

"You must not call me reverence; it is one of the designations of the
beast;--my voice is raised against it--against the horned beast."

"This was a horned beast once," again replied Solomon, observing that
the preacher's eye was fixed upon the pasty; "nature may be changed by
cookery. It hath lost all the sinful qualities that you talk about, and
hath become most savoury and nourishing food: doth it resemble the
change that, you say, takes place in the spirit?"

"We must not so mingle profane and sacred things," murmured Fleetword,
placing his forefinger upon the tempting dish, with a longing and eager
look; for he had walked far and was fasting. "Is this one of the baked
meats thou art preparing for the coming festival?"

"What festival?" inquired the cook, surlily: "I know of no festival. Of
a surety, have I laboured in my calling, to furnish forth something
worthy of this house; yet, from what I hear, there will be few at this
wedding to profit by my skill. I little thought to see our dear young
lady so wedded."

"Solomon, feasting is foolishness; it savoureth of the mammon of
unrighteousness: yet was Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord, and
Isaac loved seethed kid. Couldst thou extract a morsel of meat from that
compound, for of a truth I am an hungered?"

"What! spoil my garnishing!" exclaimed Grundy, "look at the frosting of
that horn, and the device, the two doves--see'st thou not the doves?"

"Yea; but methinks thou mightest take away a portion, without injury to
the goodly fabric.--Behold!" and the Reverend Jonas lifted, with the
cook's long knife (which he snatched in unbecoming haste from the
girdle), the paste of the edge of the gigantic pie, and stole a weighty
slice of the venison from beneath.

"Ah, ah!" grinned Solomon, evidently pleased at the distinction bestowed
upon his compost. "Is it not passing good? But you taste not of the
gravy--the gravy!"

"It is unseemly to dispose one's heart towards such luxuries; though the
saints stand in need of food no less than the young ravens--only it
should be in moderation."

The preacher gulped down a ladleful of the pottage, and gasped for
another, unmindful of his own precept, while the gravy lingered on his
lips.

"Such as that would soon make you another man," said Solomon, glancing
at Fleetword's slender and spindle shanks; "there's nour