“Rupert!” said the Vicar, in a terrible voice, interrupting himself in the middle of a cheering platitude.  But he had no time to say anything more, for behind Rupert came a procession of perhaps a dozen people, all dressed in sheets.  Everybody saw at one pitiful glance that these were unfortunate householders, so suddenly roused from oblivion as to forget all their ordinary suburban dignity, probably barely escaping from ruined homes with their lives and a sheet each.  There was a very old man, a middle-aged spinster, and then an enormous group of children of ages varying from two months to twenty years, followed by their parents, teachers, or guardians.

A nearer gun began to fire, and one of the old ladies on the other side of the crypt suddenly threw down her knitting and began confessing her sins.  “Ow, I shall go to ’ell,” she shouted dramatically.  “I bin sich a wicked ol’ woman.  I nearly done in me first ol’ man by biffin’ the chopper at ‘is nob, and Lawd, the lies I bin an’ tol’ me second only yesterday.”

“This is indeed a solemn moment,” said the sheeted spinster sitting down beside Lady Arabel.  “I hope I am meeting it in a proper spirit, but of course one is still only human, and naturally nervous.  I have learned my statement by heart.”

“What statement?” asked Lady Arabel, who was rather deeply engrossed in turning the heel of the sock she was knitting.

“The statement I shall make when the sheep are divided from the goats.”

“Oh, come, come,” said kind Lady Arabel.  “Things are not so bad as that, surely.  You must not be so dretfully pessimistic.”

“You mistake me,” said the sheeted lady, bridling.  “There is, I am confident, no cause whatever for pessimism on my part.  I have no misgivings as to the verdict.  But not being used to courts of law, I thought it best to learn my statement, as I say, by heart.”

The old knitter had been rather annoyed to find her confession interrupted.  “A wicked ol’ woman I may be,” she said with more dignity.  “But I’ll never regret givin’ that bloody speshul a bit o’ me mind this mornin’ when ’e turned saucy to the sugar queue.  I ses to ’im——­”

“We all have our faults,” Lady Arabel’s neighbour broke in.  “But I think, at this solemn moment, I may feel thankful that hastiness of recrimination was never one of mine.  All my life I have made it an unalterable rule never to make a statement without first asking myself:  Is it TRUE?  Is it JUST?  Is it KIND?”

“You may well say so,” replied Lady Arabel pleasantly.  “I only wish the younger generation would follow your example.  Nowadays it is much more likely to be:  Is it true?  No.  Is it just?  No.  Is it kind?  No.  Is it FUNNY?  Yes.  And out it comes.”

“Be that as it may,” said the ladylike creature. (One could see she was a Real Lady even through the sheet.  Obviously she read the Morning Post daily.) “Be that as it may, perhaps you can help me in one little matter which is intriguing me slightly even at this solemn moment.  Do you suppose the sheep will be allowed to hear the trial of the goats, or will the court be cleared?  I must say I should be so interested to hear the defence of the late churchwarden who eloped with——­”