dinner till this time."

"I thought," said Captain Brentwood, "that the Dean was gone back to
England."

"So he is," said the Major. "But this is a new one. The good old Dean
has resigned."

"What is the new one's name?" said the Captain.

"I don't know," said the Major. "Desborough said it was a Doctor
Maypole, and that he was very like one in appearance. But you can't
trust Desborough, you know; he never remembers names. I hope he may be
as good a man as his predecessor."

"I hope he may be no worse," said Captain Brentwood; "but I hope, in
addition, that he may be better able to travel, and look after his
outlying clergy a little more."

"It looks like it," said the Major, "to be down as far as this, before
he has been three months installed."

Mrs. Buckley went out to the kitchen to give orders; and after that,
they sat for an hour or more over their wine, till at length, the Major
said,--

"We must give him up in another hour."

Then, as if they had heard him, the dogs began to bark. Rover, who had,
against rules, sneaked into the house, and lain PERDU under the sofa,
discovered his retreat by low growling, as though determined to do his
duty, let the consequences be what they might. Every now and then, too,
when his feelings overpowered him, he would discharge a 'Woof,' like a
minute gun at sea.

"That must be him, father," said Sam. "You'll catch it, Mr. Rover!"

He ran out; a tall black figure was sitting on horseback before the
door, and a pleasant cheery voice said, "Pray, is this Major Buckley's?"

"Yes, sir," said Sam; "we have been expecting you."

He called for the groom and held the stranger's horse while he
dismounted. Then he assisted him to unstrap his valise, and carried it
in after him.

The Major, Mrs. Buckley, and the Captain had risen, and were standing
ready to greet the Church dignitary as he came in, in the most
respectful manner. But when the Major had looked for a moment on the
tall figure in black, which advanced towards the fire, instead of
saying, "Sir, I am, highly honoured by your visit," or, "Sir, I bid you
most heartily welcome," he dashed forward in the most undignified
fashion, upsetting a chair, and seizing the reverend Dean by both
hands, exclaimed, "God bless my heart and soul! Frank Maberly!"

It was he: the mad curate, now grown into a colonial dean,--sobered,
apparently, but unchanged in any material point: still elastic and
upright, looking as if for twope