Ketch stopped, dumbfounded. On the nail, hanging by the string, as
quietly as if they had hung for ages, were the cloister keys. Ketch
rubbed his eyes, and stared, and rubbed again. The bishop smiled.

"I told you, Ketch, I thought you must be mistaken, in supposing you
brought the proper keys out."

Ketch burst into a wail of anger and deprecation. He had took out the
right keys, and Jenkins could bear him out in the assertion. Some
wicked trick had been played upon him, and the keys brought back during
his absence and hung up on their hook! He'd lay his life it was the
college boys!

The bishop turned his eyes on those young gentlemen. But nothing could
be more innocent than their countenances, as they stood before him in
their trenchers. Rather too innocent, perhaps: and the bishop's eyes
twinkled, and a half-smile crossed his lips; but he made no sign. Well
would it be if all the clergy were as sweet-tempered as that Bishop of
Helstonleigh!

"Well, Ketch, take care of your keys for the future," was all he said,
as he walked away. "Good night, boys."

"Good night to your lordship," replied the boys, once more raising
their trenchers; and the crowd, outside, respectfully saluted their
prelate, who returned it in kind.

"What are you waiting for, Thorpe?" the bishop demanded, when he found
the sexton was still at the great gates, holding them about an inch