Gissing started toward the vestry door, but was delayed by the
mass of scuffling choir-puppies who had seized this
uncomprehended diversion as a chance to settle some scores of
their own. The clamour was maddening. The Bishop leapt the
chancel rail and was about to seize him when Miss Airedale, loyal
to the last, interposed. She flung herself upon the Bishop.

"Run, run!" she cried. "They'll kill you!"

Gissing profited by this assistance. He pushed over the lectern
upon Mr. Poodle, who was clutching at his surplice. He checked
Mr. Airedale by hurling little Tommy Bull, one of the choir,
bodily at him. Tommy's teeth fastened automatically upon Mr.
Airedale's ear. The surplice, which Mr. Poodle was still holding,
parted with a rip, and Gissing was free. With a yell of defiance
he tore through the vestry and round behind the chapel.

He could not help pausing a moment to scan the amazing scene,
which had been all Sabbath calm a few moments before. From the
long line of motor cars parked outside the chapel incredible
chauffeurs were leaping, hurrying to see what had happened. The
shady grove shook with the hideous clamour of the bell, still
wildly tolled by the frantic sexton. The sudden excitement had
liberated private quarrels long decently repressed: in the porch
Mrs. Retriever and Mrs. Dobermann-Pinscher were locked in combat.
With a splintering crash one of the choir-pups came sailing
through a stained-glass window, evidently thrown by some
infuriated adult. He recognized the voice of Mr. Towser, raised
in vigorous lamentation. To judge by the sound, Mr. Towser's