am aware that my
actions not being strictly in accordance with canon law, and kept a
secret from my bishop, I am a legitimate object of your suspicion."

"Never mind that, Mr. Ablethorpe," I said. "Only tell me as a friend.
Remember how I helped you all I could before. If you know anything of
my father. I must hear of it, and you must tell me."

He shook his head.

"Indeed, you cannot understand, Joseph," he repeated mournfully. "It
is not to be expected that you should. I have not the authority to
tell you. It is a sacred thing with me."

With the grasp of one hand I caught hold of the leathern case, and out
came the thing he called the monstrance. It had a kind of glass top,
which I had lifted up to get at the wafers.

"If you don't tell me," I shouted, "I'll send the whole flying into the
Brom Water."

"That would be deadly sin--the sin of sacrilege, Joseph," he answered,
trying to get the case from me; but I was too active and too near the
wall. "Hold, Joseph--oh, my monstrance--my cibory!"

He was evidently in a great strait with his conscience. Curious what
times some people have with their consciences! What a blessing mine
never bothered me! I wonder what it feels like? Perhaps like when you
have eaten a whole bushel of unripe gooseberries and wish you hadn't.
Something like that, I wager!

At any rate, he felt bad, and I was sorry for him.

So I didn't throw the monstrous thingborium away, because he thought so
much about it. I kept a tight hold of it, though, and said--

"Well, then, tell me if you know anything about my father!"

Mr. Ablethorpe sat down with his head between his hands, and groaned.

"Perfectly legitimate--perfectly legitimate--from your point of view,"
he said. "What am I to do? Seal of the confessional! I can't do it,
yet I must satisfy Joseph."

Then he hit upon something.

"You know where the Rev. Cecil de la Poer lives," says he. "He is my
spiritual director."

I knew him. The Reverend Cecil was another of the ultra-High
Churchers, who lived about three miles off, and was a gentleman's
private chaplain. He was, if possible, ten times more set on
thingboriums _et cetera_ than our Mr. Ablethorpe.

"Well," said the Hayfork, "I will write a private confession of all I
know about the matter to my spiritual director. I will intrust you
with the letter to deliver it to Mr. De la Poer. And if you open it,
the sin will be on your head."

"That's all right,