me.”
“Right most indubitably ho!” replied
Augustine. “Leave it to me.”
Until to-day he had always been terrified
of dogs, but now he did not hesitate. Almost quicker than words can tell, he
picked up a stone, discharged it at the animal, and whooped cheerily as it got
home with a thud. The dog, knowing when he had had enough, removed himself at
some forty-five m.p.h.; and the bishop, descending cautiously, clasped
Augustine’s hand in his.
“My preserver!” said the bishop.
“Don’t give it another thought,” said
Augustine, cheerily. “Always glad to do a pal a good turn. We clergymen must
stick together.”
“I thought he had me for a minute.”
“Quite a nasty customer. Full of rude
energy.”
The bishop nodded.
“His eye was not dim, nor his natural
force abated. Deuteronomy xxxiv. 7,” he agreed. “I wonder if you can direct me
to the vicarage? I fear I have come a little out of my way.”
“I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you. Perhaps it would be as well if
you did not come in. I have a serious matter to discuss with old Pieface—I
mean, with the Rev. Stanley Brandon.”
“I have a serious matter to discuss with
his daughter. I’ll just hang about the garden.”
“You are a very excellent young man,” said
the bishop, as they walked along. “You are a curate, eh?”
“At present. But,” said Augustine, tapping
his companion on the chest, “just watch my smoke. That’s all I ask you to
do—just watch my smoke.”
“I will. You should rise to great heights
—to the very top of the tree.”
“Like you did just now, eh? Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha!” said the bishop. “You young
rogue!”
He poked Augustine in the ribs.
“Ha, ha, ha!” said A ugustine.
He slapped the bishop on the back.
“But all joking aside,” said the bishop as
they entered the vicarage grounds, “I really shall keep my eye on you and see
that you receive the swift preferment which your talents and character deserve.
I say to you, my dear young friend, speaking seriously and weighing my words,
that the way you picked that dog off with that stone was the smoothest thing I
ever saw. And I am a man who always tells the strict truth.”
“Great is truth and mighty above all
things. Esdras iv. 41,” said Augustine.
He turned away and strolled towards the
laurel bushes, which were his customary meeting-place with Jane. The bishop
went on to the front door and rang the bell.
Although they had made no definite
appointment, Augustine was surprised when the minutes passed and no Jane
appeared. He did not know that she had been told off by her father to entertain
the bishop’s wife that morning, and show her the sights of Lower
Briskett-in-the-Midden. He waited some quarter of an hour with growing
impatience, and was about to leave when suddenly from the house there came to
his ears the sound of voices raised angrily.
He stopped. The voices appeared to proceed
from a room on the ground floor facing the garden.
Running lightly over the turf, Augustine
paused outside the window and listened.
The window was open at the bottom, and he
could hear quite distinctly.
The vicar was speaking in a voice that
vibrated through the room.
“Is that so?” said the vicar. Yes, it is!”
said the bishop. Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha! to you, and see how you like it!”
rejoined the bishop with spirit.
Augustine drew a step closer. It was plain
that Jane’s fears had been justified and that there was serious trouble afoot
between these two old schoolfellows. He peeped in. The vicar, his hands behind
his coat-tails, was striding up and down the carpet, while the bishop, his back
to the fireplace, glared defiance at him from the hearth-rug.
“Who ever told you you were an authority
on chasubles?” demanded the vicar.
“That’s all right who told me,” rejoined
the bishop.
“I don’t believe you know what a chasuble
is.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“It’s a circular cloak hanging
“Right most indubitably ho!” replied
Augustine. “Leave it to me.”
Until to-day he had always been terrified
of dogs, but now he did not hesitate. Almost quicker than words can tell, he
picked up a stone, discharged it at the animal, and whooped cheerily as it got
home with a thud. The dog, knowing when he had had enough, removed himself at
some forty-five m.p.h.; and the bishop, descending cautiously, clasped
Augustine’s hand in his.
“My preserver!” said the bishop.
“Don’t give it another thought,” said
Augustine, cheerily. “Always glad to do a pal a good turn. We clergymen must
stick together.”
“I thought he had me for a minute.”
“Quite a nasty customer. Full of rude
energy.”
The bishop nodded.
“His eye was not dim, nor his natural
force abated. Deuteronomy xxxiv. 7,” he agreed. “I wonder if you can direct me
to the vicarage? I fear I have come a little out of my way.”
“I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you. Perhaps it would be as well if
you did not come in. I have a serious matter to discuss with old Pieface—I
mean, with the Rev. Stanley Brandon.”
“I have a serious matter to discuss with
his daughter. I’ll just hang about the garden.”
“You are a very excellent young man,” said
the bishop, as they walked along. “You are a curate, eh?”
“At present. But,” said Augustine, tapping
his companion on the chest, “just watch my smoke. That’s all I ask you to
do—just watch my smoke.”
“I will. You should rise to great heights
—to the very top of the tree.”
“Like you did just now, eh? Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha!” said the bishop. “You young
rogue!”
He poked Augustine in the ribs.
“Ha, ha, ha!” said A ugustine.
He slapped the bishop on the back.
“But all joking aside,” said the bishop as
they entered the vicarage grounds, “I really shall keep my eye on you and see
that you receive the swift preferment which your talents and character deserve.
I say to you, my dear young friend, speaking seriously and weighing my words,
that the way you picked that dog off with that stone was the smoothest thing I
ever saw. And I am a man who always tells the strict truth.”
“Great is truth and mighty above all
things. Esdras iv. 41,” said Augustine.
He turned away and strolled towards the
laurel bushes, which were his customary meeting-place with Jane. The bishop
went on to the front door and rang the bell.
Although they had made no definite
appointment, Augustine was surprised when the minutes passed and no Jane
appeared. He did not know that she had been told off by her father to entertain
the bishop’s wife that morning, and show her the sights of Lower
Briskett-in-the-Midden. He waited some quarter of an hour with growing
impatience, and was about to leave when suddenly from the house there came to
his ears the sound of voices raised angrily.
He stopped. The voices appeared to proceed
from a room on the ground floor facing the garden.
Running lightly over the turf, Augustine
paused outside the window and listened.
The window was open at the bottom, and he
could hear quite distinctly.
The vicar was speaking in a voice that
vibrated through the room.
“Is that so?” said the vicar. Yes, it is!”
said the bishop. Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha! to you, and see how you like it!”
rejoined the bishop with spirit.
Augustine drew a step closer. It was plain
that Jane’s fears had been justified and that there was serious trouble afoot
between these two old schoolfellows. He peeped in. The vicar, his hands behind
his coat-tails, was striding up and down the carpet, while the bishop, his back
to the fireplace, glared defiance at him from the hearth-rug.
“Who ever told you you were an authority
on chasubles?” demanded the vicar.
“That’s all right who told me,” rejoined
the bishop.
“I don’t believe you know what a chasuble
is.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“It’s a circular cloak hanging
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