Just above the worthy man's crown a wisp of hair stood on end, and, like a reed in the wind, flopped hither and thither. Leo's father used to gauge the sabbatical alcoholic condition of the stout minister by this unmistakable sign. The knowledge had early descended from father to son, and when his old tutor was in a good humour Leo had many a time teased him about it. "Wonder how he'll come through the ordeal," thought he. For of course the old fellow would have to refer to the home-coming of his high-born patron and send up a prayer of thanksgiving to Heaven. He leaned back comfortably in his seat, twirled his thumbs, and felt prepared to sit through cheerfully the service of praise which seemed especially ordained to glorify himself. The sunbeams danced everywhere, casting little shafts of red, green, and yellow light on the steps of the altar, the desks of the choir, and the tiles of the floor, illuminating the grey faces of the old, and making the bright colouring of the young more radiant. They climbed up the leaden organ-pipes and sat laughing on the brown-paper hymn-books. The branches of the limes swayed gently against the stained-glass windows, as if they too wished to greet the returned squire; and when the leaves swept the window-panes there was a rustling and murmuring, like children whispering to each other before falling asleep. A peaceful dreamy atmosphere of home reigned in the quiet little church. Pastor Brenckenberg lifted his head. From his bloated countenance his eyes, full of gloom and bull-dog obstinacy, surveyed the congregation. They passed from one to the other as if they would have liked to devour one after the other. When they reached Leo they remained riveted. "What have you taken into your old pate to-day?" the latter said to himself, and acknowledged the tyrant with a friendly wink; but it was not returned with any sign of recognition. The prayers came to an end. The epistle followed uneventfully. But in the big man's voice there was a growling undertone which reminded Leo of his worst boyish scrapes in the days when that great red puffy hand wielded the birch over him. "Beloved in the Lord," the pastor began his discourse, making his ten finger-tips meet as he spoke, "last night I had a curious and terrifying dream...." "Yes, yes, I dare say," thought Leo. "Why drink so much beer on Saturday night, old boy?"