“Yes, but mind you do not blurt out anything about the landrails.”

“I think we may tell Dr. Downie.”

“Tell nobody,” said Panky.

They then talked about the statues, concerning which it was plain that nothing was known.  But my father soon broke in upon their conversation with the first instalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed to cook.

“What a delicious bird a quail is,” said Hanky.

“Landrail, Hanky, landrail,” said the other reproachfully.

Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes they returned to the statues.

“Old Mrs. Nosnibor,” said Panky, “says the Sunchild told her they were symbolic of ten tribes who had incurred the displeasure of the sun, his father.”

I make no comment on my father’s feelings.

“Of the sun! his fiddlesticks’ ends,” retorted Hanky.  “He never called the sun his father.  Besides, from all I have heard about him, I take it he was a precious idiot.”

“O Hanky, Hanky! you will wreck the whole thing if you ever allow yourself to talk in that way.”

“You are more likely to wreck it yourself, Panky, by never doing so.  People like being deceived, but they like also to have an inkling of their own deception, and you never inkle them.”

“The Queen,” said Panky, returning to the statues, “sticks to it that . . . "

“Here comes another bird,” interrupted Hanky; “never mind about the Queen.”

The bird was soon eaten, whereon Panky again took up his parable about the Queen.

“The Queen says they are connected with the cult of the ancient Goddess Kiss-me-quick.”

“What if they are?  But the Queen sees Kiss-me-quick in everything.  Another quail, if you please, Mr. Ranger.”

My father brought up another bird almost directly.  Silence while it was being eaten.

“Talking of the Sunchild,” said Panky; “did you ever see him?”

“Never set eyes on him, and hope I never shall.”

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.”