In his hand this remarkable-looking cleric still held Dan's cap. He looked at the badge and nodded his head towards the young man in a friendly fashion. "So you are a Magdalen man, sir," said he, in a full rich voice. "I too am of that college. _Et ego in Arcadia fui_. 'Addison's Walk' by the Cher is dear to me." Dan took his cap with a smile. The badge had unmasked him as an Oxonian, so that he could no longer pass himself off as cheap-jack of the caravan. "Yes, I belonged to Magdalen, sir," he owned up, stepping out of the porch and covering his head. "Had you not seen this, I would not tell you so much. I am in a different walk of life at present, Mr. Jarner, and my name is Dan." The clergyman looked at him with a slightly satirical expression on his full lips, and nodded. He quite understood the significance of the speech. "Keep your secret, friend Dan. I too have heard the chimes at midnight. You are at a frolicsome age, and why should not a man play the fool when the blood sings in his veins? But within reason--within reason." "Pagan sentiments, Mr. Jarner." "Pish, my dear sir! The sentiments of every healthy-minded man. So you are Dan? I have heard of you and of your caravan in the dell. Come across and crack a bottle with me." "What! port at four o'clock in the afternoon, and after the Red Deer ale? Do you take me for a four-bottle man, sir?" Jarner cracked his whip at the dogs, who all three set up a barking chorus. Bent upon offering hospitality, he was not to be daunted by the first refusal. "Then I'll give you good ale. That won't hurt you. By St. Beorl who built this church, I must have a chat with you. For thirty years I have been buried here, and not once have I met with a student of my old college. This day shall be marked with a white stone. That is Horace, sir, but I won't give you the Latin of it, as my classics, like my manners, have become somewhat rusty." Considerably diverted by the speech of this hospitable divine, Dan accepted the invitation, and they walked across to the vicarage. The door was wide open, and, followed by the dogs (who evidently had the right of entry), Jarner led his guest into a snug little room filled with old-fashioned furniture. There was a wide casement, in the depths of which was a parlour seat. The fireplace was large and old-fashioned, the shelves round the walls were filled with books in a more or less tattered condition, and there was a mahogany table ringed over with the bottoms of tumblers. Evidently that table had seen some hard drinking in the long winter nights. Over all there was a jovial air of untidy hospitality. Even before he spoke, Dan guessed that his new friend was unmarried. That parlour was eloquent of the absence of the female element at the vicarage. "Bachelor Hall, sir," said the parson, casting hat and hunting-crop into a corner. "Sit in that chair by the window. It is the most comfortable, and is only permitted to be used by favoured guests."