“Pity a fine lad like that should get into trouble,” said the Clerk. “I like the rascal. He got round an old man's heart like a rope round a capstan. One of the big, hearty dogs that make you say, 'By Jove, and I'm a Manxman, too.' He's in the right in this affair, whatever the Governor may say. And the Governor knows it, Christian--that's why he's so anxious to excuse you. He can overawe the Keys; and as for the Council, we're paid our wages, God bless us, and are so many stuffed snipes on his stick. But you--you're different. Then the man is your kinsman, and blood is thicker than water, if it's only---- Why, what's this?” There was some whooping behind; the line of carriages swirled like a long serpent half a yard near the hedge, and through the grey dust a large covered car shot by at the gallop of a fire-engine. The Clerk-sat bolt upright. “Now, what in the name of----” “It's an ambulance waggon,” said Philip between his set teeth. A moment later a second waggon went galloping past, then a third, and finally a fourth. “Well, upon my---- Ah! good day. Doctor! Good day, good day!” The Clerk had recognised friends on the waggons, and was returning their salutations. When they were gone, he first looked at Philip, and then shouted, “Coachman, right about face. We're going home again--and chance it.” “We can't be turning here, sir,” said the coachman. “The vehicles are coming up like bees going a-swarming. We'll have to go as far as Tynwald, anyway.” “Go on,” said Philip in a determined voice. After a while the Clerk said, “Christian, it isn't worth while getting into trouble over this affair. After all, the Governor is the Governor. Besides, he's been a good friend to you.” Philip was passing through a purgatorial fire, and his old master was feeding it with fuel on every side. They were nearing Tynwald, and could see the flags, the tents, and the crowd as of a vast encampment, and hear the deep hum of a multitude, like the murmur of a distant sea. X. Tynwald Hill is the ancient Parliament ground of Man. It is an open green in the midst of the island, with hills on three of its sides, and on the fourth a broad plain dipping to the coast. This green is of the shape of a guitar. Down the middle of the guitar there is a walled enclosure of the shape of a banjo. At the end stands a church. The round drum is the mount, which has four circles, the topmost being some six paces across. The carriage containing the Deemster and the Clerk of the Bolls had drawn up at the west gate of the church, and a policeman had opened the door. There came the sound of singing from the porch. “A quarter late,” said the Clerk of the Rolls, consulting his watch. “Shall we go in, your Honor?” “Let us take a turn round the fair instead,” said Philip.