A Bishop was coming to see the Pack--a very, very agèd Bishop, very holy
and very wise. The Cubs felt rather nervous. But, of course, it was a
great honour. They scrubbed out their headquarters, and decorated it
with evergreens. And they arranged a Council Rock for the Bishop to sit
on--a big wooden armchair.
"When you have given the Bishop a Grand Howl," said the Cubmaster, "he
will sit on the Council Rock and speak a few words to you."
"Will it be a _sermon_?" asked the Cubs, pulling long faces. They didn't
like sermons, you see.
"Yes," said the Cubmaster.
When the Bishop arrived he had such merry, little twinkling eyes and
such a kind smile that the Cubs were not a bit afraid of him. He talked
in such a jolly way that they quite forgot how very respectful they
ought to be; and they crowded round him and all told him things at the
same time. And when it came to the Grand Howl, they shouted louder than
they had ever shouted before, because they thought the greater and older
and holier the Old Wolf on the Council Rock was, the louder they ought
to shout!
Then the Bishop sat down.
"Now, I suppose, I'm expected to preach you a sermon?" he said. "But I
know you all hate sermons."
The boys looked abashed, and wondered how he had read their thoughts.
"Well," said the Bishop, "it shall only be a very short sermon. But
first I'll tell you a story. I know you all love stories."
"Oh, yes!" said the Cubs all together, their eyes sparkling.
"Then all squat down, like the young wolves in the jungle, and prick up
your ears, and listen to this old, old Wolf. It is a story someone told
to me when I was a little boy."