upon the sand-hill with his crozier, and shouted—
"Hi, there!"
The chant ceased. For at least a couple of minutes nothing happened; and then St. Piran's bald head was thrust cautiously forward over the summit.
"Holy St. Petroc! Was it only you, after all? And St. Neot—and St. Udy O, glory be!"
"Why, who did you imagine we were?" St. Petroc asked, still in amazement.
"Why, throat-cutting Danes, to be sure, by the way you were cominover the hills when we spied you, three hours back. An' the trouble we've had to cover up our blessed church out o' sight of thim marautherin' thieves! An' the intire parish gathered inside here ansingin' good-by songs in expectation of imminent death! An' to think 'twas you holy men, all the while! But why didn't ye send word ye was comin', St. Petroc, darlint? For it's little but sand ye'll find in your mouths for breakfast, I'm thinkin'."
