St Michael, with perfect self-restraint, said a few things a trifle
staccato, defining Man, his dual destiny, his hope of heaven, and all
the great business in which he himself had fought hard.
But from a
fine military tradition, he said nothing of his actions, nor even of
his shrine in Normandy, of which he is naturally extremely proud: and
well he may be. What a hill!
'I really beg your pardon,' said the Padre Eterno, when he saw the
importance attached to these little creatures. 'I am sure they are
worthy of the very fullest attention, and' (he added, for he was sorry
to have offended) 'how sensible they seem, Michael! There they go,
buying and selling, and sailing, driving, and wiving, and riding, and
dancing, and singing, and the rest of it; indeed, they are most
practical, business-like, and satisfactory little beings. But I notice
one odd thing. Here and there are some not doing as the rest, or
attending to their business, but throwing themselves into all manner
of attitudes, making the most extraordinary sounds, and clothing
themselves in the quaintest of garments. What is the meaning of that?'
'Sire!' cried St Michael, in a voice that shook the architraves of
heaven, 'they are worshipping You!'
'Oh! they are worshipping _me!_ Well, that is the most sensible thing
I have heard of them yet, and I altogether commend them. _Continuez,'_
said the Padre Eterno, _'continuez!'_
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