to drink of the fountain, raising
them Heavenward, as they swallowed--thanking God, so the Bishop said, for
its refreshment.

It was hard to believe that next door, beyond the wall, lay Mrs.
Handsomebody's planked back yard. Yet even at that moment I could see the
tall, narrow house, and fancied that a blind moved as Mrs. Handsomebody
peered down into the Bishop's garden to see how we behaved.

Rawlins brought a tray and set it on the wicker table beside the Bishop's
elbow. We discovered a silver muffin dish, a plate of cakes, and a glass
pot of honey, to say nothing of the tea.

Still the Bishop kept his gaze buried in his book, marking his progress
with a blade of grass. Rawlins stole away without speaking and we three
were left alone to stare in mute desire at the tea things. A bee was
buzzing noisily about the honey jar. It was The Seraph who spoke at last,
his hands clasped across his stomach.

"Bishop," he said, politely, but firmly. "I would yike a little nushment."

"Bless me!" cried the Bishop. "Wherever are my manners?" And he closed the
book sharply on the grass blade, and dropped it under the table. "John,
will you pour tea for us?"

We finished the muffins and cake, all talking with our mouths full, in the
most sociable and sensible way; and, after the honey pot was almost empty,
we made the bee a prisoner in it, so that, like that Duke of Clarence, who
was drowned in a butt of Malmsey, he got enough of what he liked at last.

I think it was Angel who put the question that was to lead to so much that
was exciting and mysterious.

He said, leaning against the Bishop's shoulder: "What do you think is the
most beautiful thing in the world, Bishop?"

Our friend had The Seraph between his knees, and was gazing at the back of
his head. "Well," he replied, "since you ask me seriously, I should say
this little curl on The Seraph's nape."

The Seraph felt for it.

"I yike it," he said, "but I yike my wart better."

"Good gracious," exclaimed the Bishop. "Don't tell me _you've_ a wart!"

"Yes, a weal one," chuckled The Seraph. "It's little, but it's gwowing. I
fink some day it'll be as big as the one on Mrs. Handsomebody's chin. _It
can wiggle._"

"You don't say so!" said the Bishop, rather hastily. "And where do you
suppose you got it?"

The Seraph smiled mischievously. "I fink I got it off a toad we had. He was
an awful dear ole toad, but he died, 'cos we--"

"Oh, I say, don't bother about the o