"And forty-two months," he wound up, "are forty-two months, unless you prefer to fly in the face of Revelation." His demonstration fairly staggered the Major.

"My good sir, _where_ did you say?
Patmos?
Now, if anyone had come to me a week ago and told me--Martha, ring for Scipio, please, and tell him to fetch me my hat." Although the Major and the Vicar had as good as made solemn agreement to impart their discovery to no one but Mr.Hansombody; and, although Miss Marty admittedly (and because, as she explained, no one had forbidden her) imparted it to Scipio and again to Cai Tamblyn in the course of the morning; yet, knowing Troy, I hesitate to blame her that before noon the whole town was discussing the Millennium, notice of which (it appeared) had come down to the Mayor by a private advice and in Government cipher.
"But what _is_ a Millennium ?" asked someone of Gunner Sobey (our readiest man).
"It means a thousand years," answered Gunner Sobey; "and then, if you're lucky, you gets a pension accordin'." Miss Marty confessed later that she had confided the secret to Scipio.

Now Scipio, a sentimental soul, cherished a passion.
In church every Sunday he sat behind his master and in full view of a board on the wall of the south aisle whereon in scarlet letters on a buff ground were emblazoned certain bequests and charities left to the parish by the pious dead.

The churchwardens who had set up this list, with the date, September 1757, and attested it with their names, had prudently left a fair blank space thereunder for additions.

Often, during the Vicar's sermons, poor Scipio's gaze had dwelt on this blank space.