oment it grew into a god and
a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church
near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was
an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and
musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate
ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the
great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the
winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some
special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to
the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to
great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals
powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature
of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These
festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to
celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. de Ropp
suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the
festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in
persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for
the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of
nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar.
Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not
pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was,
but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable.
Mrs. de Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all
respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract
the notice of his guardian. "It is not good for him to be pottering
down there in all weathers," she promptly decided, and at breakfast one
morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away
overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting
for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with
a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing:
there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face
gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast
on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it
was bad for him; also because the making of it "gave trouble," a deadly
offence in the middle-class