In the midst of these things arose a momentous question--what was the
religion of the deceased, and where should he be buried? As in the old
miracle plays we find good and bad angels contending for the souls of
the dead, so on this occasion did the heads of all the Saxonholme
churches, chapels and meeting-houses contend for the body of the little
Chevalier. He was a Roman Catholic. He was a Dissenter. He was a member
of the Established Church. He must be buried in the new Protestant
Cemetery. He must lie in the churchyard of the Ebenezer Tabernacle. He
must sleep in the far-away "God's Acre" of Father Daly's Chapel, and
have a cross at his head, and masses said for the repose of his soul.
The controversy ran high. The reverend gentlemen convoked a meeting,
quarrelled outrageously, and separated in high dudgeon without having
arrived at any conclusion.

Whereupon arose another question, melancholy, ludicrous, perplexing,
and, withal, as momentous as the first--Would the little Chevalier get
buried at all? Or was he destined to remain, like Mahomet's coffin, for
ever in a state of suspense?

At the last, when Mr. and Mrs. Cobbe despairingly believed that they
were never to be relieved of their troublesome guest, a vestry was
called, and the churchwardens brought the matter to a conclusion. When
he went round with his tickets, the conjuror called first at the
Rectory, and solicited the patronage of Doctor Brand. Would he have paid
that compliment to the cloth had he been other than a member of that
religion "by law established?" Certainly not. The point was clear--could
not be clearer; so orthodoxy and the new Protestant Cemetery
carried the day.