_Ex ore infantum_--
on the 1st of May next (mark my words) we shall see Satan laid hold
upon and bound for a thousand years."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Major once again.
"In the middle of spring-cleaning, too!" quavered Miss Marty.
"You'll find it as clear as daylight," the Vicar assured them,
pulling out a pocket Testament and tapping the open page.
"Will it," the Major began timorously, "will it make an appreciable
difference?"
"To what?"
"To--to our daily life--our routine? Call it humdrum, if you will--"
"My good friend, the Millennium!"
"I know, I know. Still, at my age a man has formed habits.
Of course"--the Major pulled himself together--"if it's a question of
Satan's being bound for a thousand years, on general grounds one can
only approve. Yes, decidedly, on principle one welcomes it.
Nevertheless, coming so suddenly--"
The Vicar tapped his Testament again. "It has been _here_ all the
time."
"Yes, yes," the Major sighed impatiently. "Still, it's upsetting,
you'll admit."
"The end of the world!" Miss Marty gripped her apron, as if to cast
it over her head.
"The Millennium, Miss Marty, is not the end of the world."
"Oh, isn't it?"
"It merely means that Satan will be bound for a thousand years to
come."
"If that's all"--Miss Marty walked to the bell-rope--"there's no harm
in ringing for Scipio to bring in the omelet."
"I beg your pardon?" The Vicar, not for the first time, found it
difficult to follow Miss Marty's train of thought.
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