But it
never quite came; he kept his gravity even when he said things
which would have gone very well with a smile.
"I see," he spoke, and his penetrating musical voice had, too,
like his eyes and mouth, an expression of mystery in it, "that
you are admiring our beautiful west window, especially the
figure in the centre. It is quite new - everything is new
here - the church itself was only built a few years ago. This
window is its chief glory: it was done by a good artist - he
has done some of the most admired windows of recent years; and
the centre figure is supposed to be a portrait of our generous
patroness. At all events she sat for it to him. You have
probably heard of Lady Y - ?"
"What!" I exclaimed. "Lady Y - : that funny old woman!"
"No - middle-aged," he corrected, a little frigidly and perhaps
a little mockingly at the same time.
"Very well, middle-aged if you like; I don't know her
personally. One hears about her; but I did not know she had a
place in these parts."
"She owns most of this parish and has done so much for us that
we can very well look leniently on a little weakness - her wish
that the future inhabitants of the place shall not remember her
as a middle-aged woman not remarkable for good looks - 'funny,'
as you just now said."
He was wonderfully candid, I thought. But what extraordinary
benefits had she bestowed on them, I asked, to enable them to
regard, or to say, that this picture of a very beautiful young
female was her likeness!
"Why," he said, "the church would not have been built but for
her. We were astonished at the sum she offered to contribute
towards the work, and at once set about pulling the small old
church down so as to rebuild on the exact site."
"Do you know," I returned, "I can't help saying something you
will not like to hear. It is a very fine church, no doubt,
but it always angers me to hear of a case like this where some
ancient church is pulled down and a grand new one raised in
its place to the honour and glory of some rich parvenu with or
without a brand new title."
"You are not hurting me in the least," he replied, with that
change which came from time to time in his eyes as if the
flame behind the screen had suddenly grown brighter. "I agree
with every word you say; the meanest church in the land should
be cherished as long as it will hold together. But
unfortunately ours had to come down. It was very old and
decayed past mending. The floor was six feet below the level
of the surrounding ground and frightfully damp. It had been
examined over and over again by experts during the past forty
or fifty years, and from the first they pronounced it a
hopeless case, so that it was never restored. The interior,
right down to the time of demolition, was like that of most
country churches of a century ago, with the old black worm-
eaten pews, in which the worshippers shut themselves up as if
in their own houses or castles. On account of the damp we
were haunted by toads. You smile, sir, but it was no smiling
matter for me during my first year as vicar, when I discovered
that it was the custom here to keep pet toads in the church.
It sounds strange and funny, no doubt, but it is a fact that
all the best people in the parish had one of these creatures,
and it was customary for the ladies to bring it a weekly
supply of provisions - bits of meat, hard-boiled eggs chopped
up, and earth-worms, and whatever else they fancied it would
like - in their reticules. The toads, I suppose, knew when it
was Sunday - their feeding day; at all events they would crawl
out of their holes in the floor under the pews to receive
their rations - and caresses. The toads got on my nerves with
rather unpleasant consequences. I preached in a way which my
listeners did not appreciate or properly understand,
particularly when I took for my subject our duty towards the
lower animals, including reptiles."
"Batrachians," I interposed, echoing as well as I could the
tone in which he had rebuked me before.
"Very well, batrachians - I am not a naturalist. But the
impression created on their minds appeared to be that I was
rather an odd person in the pulpit. When the time came to
pull the old church down the toad-keepers were bidden to
remove their pets, which they did with considerable
reluctance. What became of them I do not know - I never
inquired. I used to have a careful inspection made of the
floor to make sure that these creatures were not put back
in the new building, and I am happy to think it is not
suited to their habits. The floors are very well cemented,
and are dry and clean."
Having finished his story he invited me to go to the parsonage
and get some refreshment. "I daresay you are thirsty," he
said.
But it was getting late; it was almost dark in the church by
now, although the figure of the golden-haired saint still
glowed in the window and gazed at us out of her blue eyes. "I
must not waste more of your time," I added.
