ve been
working it out, and 'tis plain (excuse me) as the nose on your face.
The moment you see 'Napoleon' with the numbers under him--"

"Eh? Then it _is_ the French!" Again the Major bounced up from his
chair.

"The French? Yes, of course--but, excuse me--"

"_What_ numbers?" The Major's voice shook, though he bravely tried
to control it.

"Six hundred--"

"Good Lord! _Where_?"

"--And sixty and six. In Revelation thirteen, eighteen--I thought
you knew!" went on the Vicar reproachfully, as his friend dropped
back upon his chair, and, resting an elbow on the table, shaded
his eyes and their emotion. "As I can now prove to you in ten
minutes, the Corsican's name spells accurately the Number of the
Beast. But that's only the beginning. Power, you remember, was
given to the Beast to continue forty and two months. Add forty and
two months to the first day of the century, which I have shown to be
January 1st, 1801, and you come to May 1st, 1804: that is to say,
next May-day. You perceive the significance of the date?"

"Not entirely," confessed the Major, still a trifle pale. "Why, my
dear sir, all these rites and customs over which the Vicar of
Helleston and I have been disputing--these May-day observances, in
themselves apparently so puerile but so obviously symbolical to one
who looks below the surface--turn out to be not retrospective, not
reminiscent, not commemorative at all, but anticipatory. On every
1st of May our small urchins form a dragon or devil out of old pots
and saucepans, and flog it through the streets. _Ex ore infantum_--
on the 1st of May next (mark my words) we shall see Satan laid hold
upon and bound for a thousand years."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Major once again.

"In the middle of spring-cleaning, too!" quavered Miss Marty.

"You'll find it as clear as daylight," the Vicar assured them,
pulling out a pocket Testament and tapping the open page.

"Will it," the Major began timorously, "will it make an appreciable
difference?"

"To what?"

"To--to our daily life--our routine? Call it humdrum, if you will--"

"My good friend, the Millennium!"

"I know, I know. Still, at my age a man has formed habits.
Of course"--the Major pulled himself together--"if it's a question of
Satan's being bound for a thousand years, on general grounds one can
only approve. Yes, decidedly, on principle one welcomes it.
Nevertheless, coming so suddenly--"

The Vicar tapped his Testame