at am I to say in church next Sunday?"

"Why, as for that, you must say nothing. Good Heavens! is this a
time for adding to the disquietude of men's minds?"

"I had thought," the Vicar confessed, "of memorialising the
Government."

"Addington!" The Major's tone whenever he had occasion to mention Mr.
Addington was a study in scornful expression. He himself had once
memorialised the Prime Minister for a couple of nineteen-pounders
which, with the two on the Old Fort, would have made our harbour
impregnable. "Addington! It's hard on you, I know," he went on
sympathetically, "to keep a discovery like this to yourself. But we
might tell Hansombody."

"Why Hansombody?" For the second time a suspicion crossed the
Vicar's mind that his hearers were confusing the Millennium with some
infectious ailment.

"It is bound to affect his practice," suggested Miss Marty.

"To be sure," the Major chimed in. As a matter of fact, he attached
great importance to the apothecary's judgment, and was wont to lean
on it, though not too ostentatiously. "It can hardly fail to affect
his practice. I think, in common justice, Hansombody ought to be
told; that is, if you are quite sure of your ground."

"Sure?" The Vicar opened his Testament afresh and plunged into an
explanation. "And forty-two months," he wound up, "are forty-two
months, unless you prefer to fly in the face of Revelation."

His demonstration fairly staggered the Major. "My good sir, _where_
did you say? Patmos? Now, if anyone had come to me a week ago and
told me--Martha, ring for Scipio, please, and tell him to fetch me my
hat."

Although the Major and the Vicar had as good as made solemn agreement
to impart their discovery to no one but Mr. Hansombody; and, although
Miss Marty admittedly (and because, as she explained, no one had
forbidden her) imparted it to Scipio and again to Cai Tamblyn in the
course of the morning; yet, knowing Troy, I hesitate to blame her
that before noon the whole town was discussing the Millennium, notice
of which (it appeared) had come down to the Mayor by a private advice
and in Government cipher.

"But what _is_ a Millennium?" asked someone of Gunner Sobey (our
readiest man).

"It means a thousand years," answered Gunner Sobey; "and then, if
you're lucky, you gets a pension accordin'."

Miss Marty confessed later that she had confided the secret to
Scipio. Now Scipio, a sentimental soul, cherished a passion.
In church