at the top of its voice. Only the bride and bridegroom sat with shining eyes and strange, bright faces, and scarcely sang, or only with just moving lips.

The wake departed, and the guysers came. There was loud applause, and shouting and excitement as the old mystery play of St.

George, in which every man present had acted as a boy, proceeded, with banging and thumping of club and dripping pan.

“By Jove, I got a crack once, when I was playin' Beelzebub,” said Tom Brangwen, his eyes full of water with laughing. “It knocked all th' sense out of me as you'd crack an egg. But I tell you, when I come to, I played Old Johnny Roger with St. George, I did that.”

He was shaking with laughter. Another knock came at the door. There was a hush.