ck's voice behind the font. 'It's only
Wilfrid.'

'Wilfrid who?' said Dan. 'You come along too.'

'Wilfrid--Saint of Sussex, and Archbishop of York. _I_ shall wait till
he asks me.' He waved them forward. Their feet squeaked on the old grave
slabs in the centre aisle. The Archbishop raised one hand with a pink
ring on it, and said something in Latin. He was very handsome, and his
thin face looked almost as silvery as his thin circle of hair.

'Are you alone?' he asked.

'Puck's here, of course,' said Una. 'Do you know him?'

'I know him better now than I used to.' He beckoned over Dan's shoulder,
and spoke again in Latin. Puck pattered forward, holding himself as
straight as an arrow. The Archbishop smiled.

'Be welcome,' said he. 'Be very welcome.'

'Welcome to you also, O Prince of the Church,' Puck replied. The
Archbishop bowed his head and passed on, till he glimmered like a white
moth in the shadow by the font.

'He does look awfully princely,' said Una. 'Isn't he coming back?'

'Oh yes. He's only looking over the church. He's very fond of churches,'
said Puck. 'What's that?'

The Lady who practises the organ was speaking to the blower-boy behind
the organ-screen. 'We can't very well talk here,' Puck whispered. 'Let's
go to Panama Corner.'

He led them to the end of the south aisle, where there is a slab of iron
which says in queer, long-tailed letters: _Orate p. annema Jhone
Coline._ The children always called it Panama Corner.

The Archbishop moved slowly about the little church, peering at the old
memorial tablets and the new glass windows. The Lady who practises the
organ began to pull out stops and rustle hymnbooks behind the screen.

'I hope she'll do all the soft lacey tunes--like treacle on porridge,'
said Una.

'I like the trumpety ones best,' said Dan. 'Oh, look at Wilfrid! He's
trying to shut the altar gates!'

'Tell him he mustn't,' said Puck, quite seriously.

'He can't, anyhow,' Dan muttered, and tiptoed out of Panama Corner while
the Archbishop patted and patted at the carved gates that always sprang
open again beneath his hand.

'That's no use, sir,' Dan whispered. 'Old Mr. Kidbrooke says altar-gates
are just _the_ one pair of gates which no man can shut. He made 'em so
himself.'

The Archbishop's blue eyes twinkled. Dan saw that he knew all about it.

'I beg your pardon,' Dan stammered--very angry with Puck.

'Yes, I know! He made them so Himself.' The Archbishop smiled, an