ntertained at a sumptuous repast in the nursery "between the services."
Robin presided at it with anxious rapture, being now just a little in
awe of his faithful old friend. His nurse, who approved of Mr. Thrush,
and was much impressed by the fact that after two interviews with the
Dean he had been appointed to a post in the Cathedral, sat down to it
too; and Rosamund and Dion looked in to congratulate Mr. Thrush, and to
tell him how delighted they were with his bearing in the procession
and his delicately adroit manipulation of his wand. Mr. Thrush received
their earnest congratulations with the quiet dignity of one who felt
that they did not spring from exaggeration of sentiment. Like all great
artists he knew when he had done well. But when Rosamund and Dion were
about to retire, and to leave him with Robin and the nurse to the tea
and well-buttered toast, he suddenly emerged into an emotion which did
him credit.

"Madame!" He said to Rosamund, in a rather hoarse and tremulous voice.

"Now don't trouble to get up again, dear Mr. Thrush. Yes, what is it?"

Mr. Thrush looked down steadily at the "round" which glistened on his
plate. Something fell upon it.

"Oh, Mr. Thrush----!" began Robin, and paused in dismay, looking up at
his mother.

"Madame," said Mr. Thrush again, still looking at the "round," "I
haven't felt as I do now since I stood behind my counter just off
Hanover Square, respected. Yes," he said, and his old voice quavered
upwards, gaining in strength, "respected by all who knew me. _She_
was with me then, and now she isn't. But I feel--I feel--I'm respected
again."

Something else fell upon the toast.

"And it's all your doing, madam. I--all I can say is that I--all I can
say----" His voice failed.

Rosamund put her hand on his shoulder.

"There, Mr. Thrush, there! I know, I know just how it is."

"Madame," said Mr. Thrush, with quavering emphasis, "one can depend upon
you, a man can depend upon you. What you undertake you carry through,
even if it's only the putting on his feet of--of--I never thought to be
a verger, never. I never could have looked up to such a thing but for
you. But Mr. Dean he said to me, 'Mr. Thrush, when Mrs. Leith speaks up
for a man, even an archbishop has to listen.'"

"Thank you, Mr. Thrush. Robin, give Mr. Thrush the brown sugar. He
always likes brown sugar in his tea."

"It's more nourishing, madam," said Mr. Thrush, with a sudden change
from emotion to quiet s