And so on till the last bird was eaten.
“Fellow,” said Panky, “fetch some more wood; the fire is nearly dead.”
“I can find no more, sir,” said my father, who was afraid lest some genuine ranger might be attracted by the light, and was determined to let it go out as soon as he had done cooking.
“Never mind,” said Hanky, “the moon will be up soon.”
“And now, Hanky,” said Panky, “tell me what you propose to say on Sunday. I suppose you have pretty well made up your mind about it by this time.”
“Pretty nearly. I shall keep it much on the usual lines. I shall dwell upon the benighted state from which the Sunchild rescued us, and shall show how the Musical Banks, by at once taking up the movement, have been the blessed means of its now almost universal success. I shall talk about the immortal glory shed upon Sunch’ston by the Sunchild’s residence in the prison, and wind up with the Sunchild Evidence Society, and an earnest appeal for funds to endow the canonries required for the due service of the temple.”
“Temple! what temple?” groaned my father inwardly.
“And what are you going to do about the four black and white horses?”
“Stick to them, of course—unless I make them six.”
“I really do not see why they might not have been horses.”