composed of the senior male scholars, including Tom Metters, the rascal who had put the inscriptions in the mouths of Moses and Aaron. "Now, boys, attention. The cradle and Polly Woodley are nothing to you. We will proceed with what we were about."
"Please, sir," said Tom Metters, thrusting forth his hand as a semaphore, "what do Quinquagesima, Septuagesima and the lot of they rummy names mean?"
"Rummy," reproved Captain Tubb, "is an improper term to employ. Say, remarkable. Quinquagesima"—he stroked his moustache, then brightened—"it is the name of a Sunday."
"I know, sir, but why is it so called?"
"Why are you called Tom Metters?" asked the captain as a feeble effort to turn the tables.
"I be called Tom after my uncle, and Metters is my father's name—but Quinquagesima?"
"Quin-qua-gess-im-a!" mused the captain, and looked furtively towards my lady for help, but she was engrossed in teaching her class what books were not to be employed for the establishment of doctrine, and did not notice the appeal.
"Yes, sir," persisted Metters, holding him as a ferret holds the throat of a rabbit, "Quinquagesima."
"I think," said Tubb, eagerly, "we were engaged on David's mighty men. Go on with the mighty men."
"But, please sir, I do want to know about Quinquagesima, cruel bad."
"Quin-qua-gess-ima," sighed Captain Tubb, nibbling the ends of his beard; then again in a lower sigh, "Quin-qua-gess-ima?" He looked at Arminell for enlightenment, but in vain. She was listening amused and scornful.
"Gessima—gessima!" said Mr. Tubb; then falteringly: "It's a sort of creeper, over veranders."
He saw a flash in Arminell's eye, and took it as encouragement. Then, with confidence, he advanced.
