“_Do_ I? It’s Heaven to me, sittin’ in Lodge again, It’s all comin’ back now, watching their mistakes. I haven’t much religion, but all I had I learnt in Lodge.” Recognising me, he flushed a little as one does when one says a thing twice over in another’s hearing. “Yes, ’veiled in all’gory and illustrated in symbols’--the Fatherhood of God, an’ the Brotherhood of Man; an’ what more in Hell _do_ you want?... Look at ’em!” He broke off giggling. “See! See! They’ve tied the whole thing into knots. _I_ could ha’ done it better myself--my one foot in France. Yes, I should think they _ought_ to do it again!” The new organist covered the little confusion that had arisen with what sounded like the wings of angels. When the amateurs, rather red and hot, had finished, they demanded an exhibition-working of their bungled ceremony by Regular Brethren of the Lodge. Then I realised for the first time what word-and-gesture-perfect Ritual can be brought to mean. We all applauded, the one-footed Corporal most of all. “We _are_ rather proud of our working, and this is an audience worth playing up to,” the Doctor said. Next the Master delivered a little lecture on the meanings of some pictured symbols and diagrams. His theme was a well-worn one, but his deep holding voice made it fresh. “Marvellous how these old copybook-headings persist,” the Doctor said. “_That’s_ all right!” the one-footed man spoke cautiously out of the side of his mouth like a boy in form. “But they’re the kind o’ copybook-headin’s we shall find burnin’ round our bunks in Hell. Believe me-ee! I’ve broke enough of ’em to know. Now, h’sh!” He leaned forward, drinking it all in. Presently Brother Burges touched on a point which had given rise to some diversity of Ritual. He asked for information. “Well, in Jamaica, Worshipful Sir,” a Visiting Brother began, and explained how they worked that detail in his parts. Another and another joined in from different quarters of the Lodge (and the world), and when they were well warmed the Doctor sidled softly round the walls and, over our shoulders, passed us cigarettes. “A shocking innovation,” he said, as he returned to the Captain-musician’s vacant seat on my left. “But men can’t really talk without tobacco, and we’re only a Lodge of Instruction.” “An’ I’ve learned more in one evenin’ here than ten years.” The one-footed man turned round for an instant from a dark, sour-looking Yeoman in spurs who was laying down the law on Dutch Ritual. The blue haze and the talk increased, while the organ from the loft blessed us all. “But this is delightful,” said I to the Doctor. “How did it all happen?”