Most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy favour to behold our most
gracious Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria; and so replenish her with the
grace of Thy Holy Spirit that she may alway incline to Thy will"--the
Bishop's voice became one with the murmur of the river, as it moved among
the ridges; the mellow sunlight scarcely touched this sheltered pool, but
one could see it in its full strength on the meadow beyond, where larks
were nesting. I brought myself up with a start. The Bishop's voice came
from a great distance--"beseech Thee to bless Albert Edward Prince of
Wales"--Angel was joggling me with his elbow.

"You duffer," he whispered, "you've been nodding. Get your hymn book."

In the choir vestry the Bishop stopped for a moment beside us, his surplice
billowing about him like the sails about a tall mast when the wind dies.
"At seven," he said, "tomorrow morning at my house. And _wear old
clothes_."

The sails were filled, and he moved majestically away, towering above the
small craft around him.

II

It was morning. It was ten o'clock. It was May. We were all stowed away in
the Bishop's trap with his son, Harry, controlling the fat pony, whose
small fore-hoof pawed impatiently on the asphalt. Angel and I had donned
old jerseys and The Seraph a clean holland pinafore, against which he
pressed an empty treacle tin where a solitary worm reared an anxious head
against the encircling gloom.

"I've got a worm," he gasped, gleefully, as the pony, released at last,
jerked us almost off our seats. "He's nice an' fat, an' he's quite clean,
for I've washed him fwee times. He's as tame as anyfing. He's wather a dear
ole worm, an' it seems a shame to wun a hook frew him."

"Child, it shall not be done," consoled the Bishop. "Keep your worm, and,
when we get to the river-bank, we'll introduce him to the country worms,
and maybe he'll like them so well he'll marry and settle down there for the
rest of his days."

"If he could see a lady-worm he'd like," stipulated The Seraph.

"He'd have a wide choice," said the Bishop. "The country is full of worms,
some of them charming, I daresay."

"And, I say," chuckled Angel, "you could perform the ceremony--if only we
knew their names."

"This is Charles Augustus," said The Seraph with dignity.

"She'd likely be Ernestine," I put in.

"Very well," said the Bishop. "It should proceed thus: 'I, Charles
Augustus, take thee, Ernestine, to have and to hold'--and I do wish, Harry,