Isidore's sudden onslaught of authority and the
explosive language in which he ordered them hither and thither,
cursing one for his slowness with the measuring-tape, taking another
by the shoulders and pushing him into position, began to show signs
of mutiny. Mr. Julius Bamberger mopped a perspiring brow as he ran
about vainly trying to interpose.

"Isidore, this is damned nonsense, I tell you!"

"You leave 'em to me," panted Mr. Isidore. "Tell me I don't
understand managing a crowd like this! It's part of ze _method_, my
goot Julius. Put ze fear of ze Lord into 'em, to start wiz.
Zey gromble at first; Zen zey findt zey like it: in the endt zey lof
you. _Hein_? It is not for nozzing zey call me ze Bageant
King! . . ."

The old man and the child, left to themselves, watched these
operations for a while across the greensward, over which the elms now
began to lengthen their shadows.

"The Chaplain was right," said Brother Copas. "Mr. Isidore certainly
does not let the grass grow under his feet."

"If I were the grass, I shouldn't want to," said Corona.

CHAPTER XIII.

GARDEN AND LAUNDRY.

"The nasty pigs!"

Nurse Branscome's face, usually composed and business-like
(as a nurse's should be), was aflush between honest shame and equally
honest scorn.

"To be sure," said Brother Copas soothingly. He had met her by
chance in the ambulatory on her way from Brother Bonaday's rooms.
On a sudden resolve he had told her of the anonymous letter, not
showing it, but conveying (delicately as he might) its substance.
"To be sure," he repeated. "But I am thinking--"

"As if I don't know your thoughts!" she interrupted vigorously.
"You are thinking that, to save scandal, I had better cease my
attendance on Brother Bonaday, and hand over the case to Nurse
Turner. That I could do, of course; and if _he_ knows of it,
I certainly shall. Have you told him?"

Brother Copas shook his head.

"No. What is more, I have not the smallest intention of telling
him."

"Thank you. . . . Oh, but it is vile--vile!"

"So vile that, believe me, I had great difficulty in telling you."

"I am sure you had. . . . I can hand over the case to Nurse Turner,
of course; in fact, it came on her _rota_, but she asked me as a
favour to take it, having her hands full just then with Brother Royle
and Brother Dasent's rheumatics. It will be hard, though, to give up
the child." Nurse Branscome flushed again. "Oh, yes--you are a