"Why, my dear sir, all these rites and customs over which the Vicar of Helleston and I have been disputing--these May-day observances, in themselves apparently so puerile but so obviously symbolical to one who looks below the surface--turn out to be not retrospective, not reminiscent, not commemorative at all, but anticipatory.

On every 1st of May our small urchins form a dragon or devil out of old pots and saucepans, and flog it through the streets.

_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.