'I hope she'll do all the soft lacey tunes--like treacle on porridge,' said Una.
'I like the trumpety ones best,' said Dan. 'Oh, look at Wilfrid! He's trying to shut the altar gates!'
'Tell him he mustn't,' said Puck, quite seriously.
'He can't, anyhow,' Dan muttered, and tiptoed out of Panama Corner while the Archbishop patted and patted at the carved gates that always sprang open again beneath his hand.
'That's no use, sir,' Dan whispered. 'Old Mr. Kidbrooke says altar-gates are just _the_ one pair of gates which no man can shut. He made 'em so himself.'
The Archbishop's blue eyes twinkled. Dan saw that he knew all about it.
'I beg your pardon,' Dan stammered--very angry with Puck.
'Yes, I know! He made them so Himself.' The Archbishop smiled, and crossed to Panama Corner, where Una dragged up a certain padded arm-chair for him to sit on.
The organ played softly. 'What does that music say?' he asked.
Una dropped into the chant without thinking: '"Oh, all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever." We call it the Noah's Ark, because it's all lists of things--beasts and birds and whales, you know.'
'Yes--"O ye whales, and all that move in the waters,"' Una hummed--'"Bless ye the Lord"--it sounds like a wave turning over, doesn't it?'
'Holy Father,' said Puck with a demure face, 'is a little seal also "one who moves in the water"?'
'Eh? Oh yes--yess!' he laughed. 'A seal moves wonderfully in the waters. Do the seal come to my island still?'
Puck shook his head. 'All those little islands have been swept away.'
'Very possible. The tides ran fiercely down there. Do you know the land of the Sea-calf, maiden?'
'The Archbishop is thinking of a little farther down the coast. He means Seal's Eye--Selsea--down Chichester way--where he converted the South Saxons,' Puck explained.
'Yes--yess; if the South Saxons did not convert me,' said the Archbishop, smiling. 'The first time I was wrecked was on that coast. As our ship took ground and we tried to push her off, an old fat fellow, I remember, reared breast high out of the water, and scratched his head with his flipper as if he were saying: "What _does_ that respectable person with the pole think he is doing?" I was very wet and miserable, but I could not help laughing, till the natives came down and attacked us.'