The congregation stood up. All this, in Robin's mind, was
for Mr. Thrush. Still holding his father's hand tightly he joined in the
congregation's movement. The solemnly pacing steps drew nearer. Robin
felt very small, and the pew seemed very deep to him now that he was
standing up. There was a fat red footstool by his left leg. He peeped at
his father and whispered:

"May I, Fa?"

Dion bent down, took him under the arms and lifted him gently on to the
footstool just as the vergers appeared with their wands, walking nobly
at the head of the procession.

At Welsley the ordinary vergers did not march up the choir to the return
stalls, but divided and formed up in two lines at the entrance, making
a dignified avenue down which the choristers and the clergy passed with
calm insouciance into the full view of the waiting congregation. Only
two picked men, with wands of silver, preceded the dignitaries to their
massive stalls. Mr. Thrush was--though not in Robin's eyes--an
ordinary verger. He would not therefore penetrate into the choir. But,
mercifully, he with one other had been placed in the forefront of the
procession. He led the way, and Robin and his parents had a full and
satisfying view of him as the procession curved round and made for the
screen. In his dark and flowing robe he came on majestical, holding
his wand quite perfectly, and looking not merely self-possessed but--as
Rosamund afterwards put it--"almost uplifted."

Robin began to breathe hard as he gazed. From Mr. Thrush's shoulders the
robe swung with his lordly movements. He reached the entrance. It seemed
as if nothing could prevent him from floating on, in all the pride and
dignity of his new office, to the very steps of the Dean's stall. But
discipline held him. He stood aside; he came to rest with his wand
before him; he let the procession pass by, and then, almost mystically,
he evaporated with his brother vergers.

Rosamund sent a quick look to Dion, a look of subdued and yet bright
triumph. Then she glanced down at Robin. She had been scarcely less
excited, less strung up, than he. But she had seen the fruit of her
rehearsals and now she was satisfied. Robin, she saw, was more than
satisfied. His eyes were round with the glory of it all.

That was the happiest Sunday Dion had ever spent, and it was fated to
close in a happiness welling up out of the very deeps of the heart.

Canon Wilton and Esme Darlington came in to tea, and Mr. Thrush was
e