the ministers may pass through the side door. If you please, I will take you in with me. The pretty fools yonder march slowly; if we turn down this lane, we will outstrip them quite.”

“Agreed,” I said, and we turned into a lane thick planted with tobacco, made a detour of the Governor’s house, and outflanked the procession, arriving at the small door before it had entered the churchyard. Here we found the sexton mounting guard.

“I am Master Sparrow, the minister that came in the Southampton,” my new acquaintance explained. “I am to sit in the choir. Let us pass, good fellow.”

The sexton squared himself before the narrow opening, and swelled with importance.