unobtrusively at the back, among the rustling and
nudging lay brethren. In other circumstances it would have amused me to
see the grave faces they turned towards the altar, and to hear all the
while the confused scuffling as they trod on each other's toes, trying
whose skin was the tenderest or whose sandal soles were the thickest. One
or two even tried conclusions with me, but once only. For the first who
adventured got a stamp from my riding-boot which caused him to squeal out
like a stuck pig, and but for the waking thunder of the organ might have
gotten him a month's penance in addition. So after that my toes were left
severely alone among the lay brethren.

Then came the high procession, at which the monks and all stood up. In
front there were the incense-bearers and acolytes, then officers whose
names, not being convent-bred nor yet greatly given to church-craft, I
did not know. Then after them came two men who walked together, at the
sight of whom the' jaws of all the monks dropped, and they stood so
infinitely astonished that no power was left in them. For, instead of
one, two mitred abbots entered in full canonical attire--golden mitre and
green, golden-headed staff, red embroidered robes lined with green. These
two paced solemnly in abreast, and sat down upon twin thrones.

"The Abbot of St. Omer!" whispered one of the lay brothers, naming one of
the most famous abbeys in Europe, and the word flew round like lightning.
Whether he had been instructed or not what to say I do not know. But at
all events I saw the tidings run round the circle of the choir, overleap
the boundary stall, and even reach the officiating priests, who inclined
an eager ear to catch it, and passed the word one to another in the
intervals of the chanted sentences.

Then the news was drowned in the thunder of the anthem, and the organ
dominating all. Everything was strange to me, but most strange the
practice of the lay brothers, who chanted bravely indeed in tune, but who
(for the words set in the chorals) substituted other sentiments of a kind
not usually found in service-books.

"He looks a stout and be-e-e-fy o-o-old fel-low, this A-a-a-bot of St.
Omer, don't you think? Glory, glo-o-ry. Takes his meals well, likes his
qu-a-a-art of Rhenish or his Burgundy to swell his jolly paunch.
A-a-a-men!"

Or, as it might be: "Are you coming--are you coming o-o-out to-night?
There will be-ee, good compan-ee-ee. Dancing and deray--lots of prett