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(Here Sir Felix reproduced the simple shepherd’s magnificent gesture, and paused.)

“And then,” he pursued, “as he set the bowl of goat’s milk on the board, that simple Tyrolean turned to me with a magnificent sweep of the hand”–gesture repeated–“and exclaimed–“

Here followed a prolonged pause, and it slowly dawned upon the audience that by a pardonable trick of memory Sir Felix was for the moment unable to recall the words he had repeated thrice a day for the last thirty years.

The situation was awkward. At the back of the platform Mr. Rabling rose to it. He had once a tenor voice of moderate calibre which he was used to exert publicly in the days of Penny Readings. And the word “Tyrolean” now suggested to him a national song which had long reposed in his musical cabinet at home. He leaned forward, screened his mouth with one hand and whispered–

“Sir Felix–“

“Hey?” Sir Felix whipped round.

“Did a’ say” (with sudden and piercing jodel) “Lul-ul-i-e-tee! Lul-ul-i-ee! Lul-ul–“

Sir Felix stamped his foot; and I think we all felt glad for Rabling at that moment that he held his cottage on a ninety-nine years’ lease. But the lecture was spoilt before it began. The missionary piled his statistics to the moon, and turned down the gas, and showed us “The Child: What will he become?” But we took no interest in that question. The question for us was, What exactly did that simple Tyrolese shepherd say to Sir Felix? And that is just what we have been asking each other for a week past.

Sir Felix recovered himself towards the close of the address, and at the close acknowledged our vote of thanks in a pleasant little speech–in which, however, his Tyrolean friend was not so much as alluded to. It was pretty, too, to see the Little Knights of Abstinence afterwards, with their sashes and banners, marching uphill after the band, like so many children of Hamelin after the Pied Piper. Only, my dear Prince, what tune do you think the band was playing? Why–

Come where the booze is cheaper,
Come where the pints hold more . . .!

The missionary, I am told, is already beginning to talk as if we disappointed him. But this was certain to befall a man of one idea in a place of so many varied interests.