'Have you lost your key?'
'I believe I have.'
'Catsmeat,' said the bishop, with grave censure, 'this is the last time I come out painting statues with you.'
'I must have dropped it somewhere.'
'What shall we do?'
'There's just a chance the scullery window may be open.'
But the scullery window was not open. Careful, vigilant, and faithful to his trust, the butler, on retiring to rest, had fastened it and closed the shutters. They were locked out.
But it has been well said that it is the lessons which we learn in our boyhood days at school that prepare us for the problems of life in the larger world outside. Stealing back from the mists of the past, there came to the bishop a sudden memory.
'Catsmeat!'
'Hullo?'