'Hungry?'
'No money. Hard up—very! Often hungry. Ha, ha!'
Again through the court that queer rustle passed. The three magistrates gazed at the accused. Then 'the Honble' Calmady said:
'You say you found the loaf under the cart. Didn't it occur to you to put it back? You could see it had fallen. How else could it have come there?'
The rector's burning eyes seemed to melt.
'From the sky. Manna.' Staring round the court, he added: 'Hungry—God's elect—to the manna born!' And, throwing back his head, he laughed. It was the only sound in a silence as of the grave.
The magistrates spoke together in low tones. The rector stood motionless, gazing at them fixedly. The people in the court sat as if at a play. Then the Chairman said:
'Case dismissed.'
'Thank you.'
Jerking out that short thanksgiving, the rector descended from the dock, and passed down the centre aisle, followed by every eye.