The vicar asked a few questions touching the old man’s comfort, and opened the little oriel window to admit the morning air. "Lieutenant Selby was most interested in your unique collection of curios outside, Mr Tyelake. Perhaps you would like to tell him something about them." He looked at his watch, addressing Selby. "I have a meeting, I’m afraid.... I don’t know if you’d care to stay a few minutes longer and chat?" "Certainly," said Selby, and drew a chair near the bed. "If Mr Tyelake doesn’t mind, I’d like to stay a little while...." He sat down, and the vicar took his departure, closing the door behind him. In a corner by the dresser a tall grandfather clock ticked out the deliberate seconds; a bluebottle sailed in through the open window and skirmished round the low ceiling. The old man lay staring at his hands as they lay on the patchwork quilt; twisted, nubbly hands they were, with something pathetic about their toilworn helplessness. Every now and again the wind brought into the little room the tinkle of the glass ornaments pendent in the apple-trees outside: the faint sound seemed to rouse the occupant of the bed. "I’ve seen a mort of religions," he said in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. "Heaps of ’em. An’ some said one thing an’ some said the other." His old blank eyes followed the gyrations of the fly upon the ceiling. "An’ I dunno.... Buddhas an’ Me-’ommets, Salvation Armies, an’ Bush Baptists, ... an’ some says one thing an’ some says the other. I dunno..." He shook his head wearily. "But many’s the pot of galvanised paint I used up outside there ... an’ goldleaf, in the dog-watches a-Saturdays." This, then, was the explanation of the fantastic decorations outside. Altars to the unknown God! The old man turned his head towards his visitor. "But don’t you tell the parson. He wouldn’t hold with it.... I tell you because you’re in the Navy, an’ p’r’aps you’d understand. I was in the Navy—Mr Tyelake’s my name. Thirty year a Gunner; an’ Navy beef——" For a while the old man rambled on, seemingly unconscious of his visitor’s presence, of ships long passed through the breakers’ yards, of forgotten commissions all up and down the world, of beef and rheumatism and Buddha, while Selby sat listening, half moved by pity, half amused at himself for staying on.