ding the Master good morning he went straight to Brother
Bonaday's lodging. Brother Bonaday, now fairly convalescent, was up
and dressed and seated in his arm-chair, whiling away the morning
with a newspaper. In days of health he had been a diligent reader of
dull books; had indeed (according to his friend Copas--but the story
may be apocryphal) been known to sit up past midnight with an
antiquated _Annual Report of the Registrar-General_, borrowed from
the shelf of Brother Inchbald, whose past avocations had included the
registering of Births, Deaths and Marriages somewhere in Wiltshire.
But of late, as sometimes happens in old age, books had lost their
savour for him, and he preferred to let his eyes rest idly on life's
passing show as reflected in the _camera obscura_ of a halfpenny
paper.

He rose respectfully as the Chaplain entered.

"Be seated, please," said Mr. Colt. Declining a chair for himself,
he planted his feet astraddle on the worn hearthrug.

Standing so, with his back to the grate, his broad shoulders blocking
out the lower half of a picture of the Infant Samuel above the
mantel-shelf, he towered over the frail invalid, concerning whose
health he asked a few perfunctory questions before plunging into
business.

"You're wondering what brings me here. Fact is," he announced, "I've
come to ask you a plain question--a question it's my duty to ask; and
I think you're strong enough to answer it without any beating about
the bush on either side. For six months now I haven't seen you at
Holy Communion. Why?"

Brother Bonaday's face twitched sharply. For a moment or two he
seemed to be searching for an answer. His lips parted, but still no
answer came.

"I know, you know," said the Chaplain, nodding down at him. "I keep
a record of these things--names and dates."

Brother Bonaday might have answered--

"Quite so--and _that_ is why."

Some churchmen--of the type for which Mr. Colt adequately catered--
revel in professing their faith, and will parade for its holiest
sacrament with an unabashed and hail-fellow sociability; and
doubtless for these 'brass-band communicants' (as Brother Copas
called them) a great deal may be said. But Brother Bonaday was
one of those others who, walking among mysteries, must hush the
voice and bow the head; to whom the Elements are awful, and in whom
awe begets a sweet and tender shame. To be docketed as having, on
such and such a day at such and such an hour,