you sell here," he said to the barmaid when he
had finished; "I think, my dear, I'll have just one more."

At eleven the landlord gently but firmly insisted on his leaving, and he
went, assisted, as far as the end of the court, by the potboy. After he
was gone, the landlord noticed a neat little black bag on the seat where
he had been lying. Examining it closely, he discovered a brass plate
between the handles, and upon the brass plate were engraved the owner's
name and title. Opening the bag, the landlord saw a neat little roll of
manuscript, and across a corner of the manuscript was written the
Bishop's name and address.

The landlord blew a long, low whistle, and stood with his round eyes wide
open gazing down at the open bag. Then he put on his hat and coat, and
taking the bag, went out down the court, chuckling hugely as he walked.
He went straight to the house of the Resident Canon and rang the bell.

"Tell Mr. ---," he said to the servant, "that I must see him to-night. I
wouldn't disturb him at this late hour if it wasn't something very
important."

The landlord was ushered up. Closing the door softly behind him, he
coughed deferentially.

"Well, Mr. Peters" (I will call him "Peters"), said the Canon, "what is
it?"

"Well, sir," said Mr. Peters, slowly and deliberately, "it's about that
there lease o' mine. I do hope you gentlemen will see your way to makin'
it twenty-one year instead o' fourteen."

"God bless the man!" cried the Canon, jumping up indignantly, "you don't
mean to say you've come to me at eleven o'clock on a Sunday night to talk
about your lease?"

"Well, not entirely, sir," answered Peters, unabashed; "there's another
little thing I wished to speak to you about, and that's this"--saying
which, he laid the Bishop's bag before the Canon and told his story.

The Canon looked at Mr. Peters, and Mr. Peters looked at the Canon.

"There must be some mistake," said the Canon.

"There's no mistake," said the landlord. "I had my suspicions when I
first clapped eyes on him. I seed he wasn't our usual sort, and I seed
how he tried to hide his face. If he weren't the Bishop, then I don't
know a Bishop when I sees one, that's all. Besides, there's his bag, and
there's his sermon."

Mr. Peters folded his arms and waited. The Canon pondered. Such things
had been known to happen before in Church history. Why not again?

"Does any one know of this besides yourself?" asked the Canon.