“I shouldn’t like to have to ride him into Silverbridge,” said the major, descending from the gig, and instructing his servant to move the horse and gig about as long as he might remain within the house. Then he walked across the little garden and knocked at the door. The door was immediately opened, and in the passage he found Mr. Crawley, and another clergyman whom the reader will recognize as Mr. Thumble. Mr. Thumble had come over to make arrangements as to the Sunday services and the parochial work, and had been very urgent in impressing on Mr. Crawley that the duties were to be left entirely to himself. Hence had come some bitter words, in which Mr. Crawley, though no doubt he said the sharper things of the two, had not been able to vanquish his enemy so completely as he had done on former occasions.
“There must be no interference, my dear sir—none whatever, if you please,” Mr. Thumble had said.
“There shall be none of which the bishop shall have reason to complain,” Mr. Crawley had replied.
“There must be none at all, Mr. Crawley, if you please. It is only on that understanding that I have consented to take the parish temporarily into my hands. Mrs. Crawley, I hope that there may be no mistake about the schools. It must be exactly as though I were residing on the spot.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Crawley, very irate at this appeal to his wife, and speaking in a loud voice, “do you misdoubt my word; or do you think that if I were minded to be false to you, that I should be corrected in my falsehood by the firmer faith of my wife?”
“I meant nothing about falsehood, Mr. Crawley.”
“Having resigned this benefice for certain reasons of my own, with which I shall not trouble you, and acknowledging as I do—and have done in writing under my hand to the bishop—the propriety of his lordship’s interference in providing for the services of the parish till my successor shall have been instituted, I shall, with what feelings of regret I need not say, leave you to the performance of your temporary duties.”
“That is all that I require, Mr. Crawley.”
“But it is wholly unnecessary that you should instruct me in mine.”
“The bishop especially desires—” began Mr. Thumble. But Mr. Crawley interrupted him instantly.—
“If the bishop has directed you to give me such instruction, the bishop has been much in error. I will submit to receive none from him through you, sir. If you please, sir, let there be an end of it;” and Mr. Crawley waved his hand. I hope that the reader will conceive the tone of Mr. Crawley’s voice, and will appreciate the aspect of his face, and will see the motion of his hand, as he spoke these latter words. Mr. Thumble felt the power of the man so sensibly that he was unable to carry on the contest. Though Mr. Crawley was now but a broken reed, and was beneath his feet, yet Mr. Thumble acknowledged to himself that he could not hold his own in debate with this broken reed. But the words had been spoken, and the tone of the voice had died away, and the fire in the eyes had burned itself out before the moment of the major’s arrival. Mr. Thumble was now returning to his horse, and having enjoyed—if he did enjoy—his little triumph about the parish, was becoming unhappy at the future dangers that awaited him. Perhaps he was the more unhappy because it had been proposed to him by authorities at the palace that he should repeatedly ride on the same animal from Barchester to Hogglestock and back. Mr. Crawley was in the act of replying to lamentations on this subject, with his hand on the latch, when the major arrived—“I regret to say, sir, that I cannot assist you by supplying any other steed.” Then the major had knocked, and Mr. Crawley had at once opened the door.
“You probably do not remember me, Mr. Crawley?” said the major. “I am Major Grantly.” Mrs. Crawley, who heard these words inside the room, sprang up from her chair, and could hardly resist the temptation to rush into the passage. She too had barely seen Major Grantly; and now the only bright gleam which appeared on her horizon depended on his constancy under circumstances which would have justified his inconstancy. But had he meant to be inconstant, surely he would never have come to Hogglestock!
“I remember you well, sir,” said Mr. Crawley. “I am under no common obligation to you. You are at present one of my bailsmen.”
“There’s nothing in that,” said the major.
Mr. Thumble, who had caught the name of Grantly, took off his hat, which he had put on his head. He had not been particular in keeping off his hat before Mr. Crawley. But he knew very well that Archdeacon Grantly was a big man in the diocese; and though the Grantlys and the Proudies were opposed to each other, still it might be well to take off his hat before anyone who had to do with the big ones of the diocese. “I hope your respected father is well, sir?” said Mr. Thumble.
“Pretty well, I thank you.” The major stood close up against the wall of the passage, so as to allow room for Mr. Thumble to pass out. His business was one on which he could hardly begin to speak until the other visitor should have gone. Mr. Crawley was standing with the door wide open in his hand. He also was anxious to be rid of Mr. Thumble—and was perhaps not so solicitous as a brother clergyman should have been touching the future fate of Mr. Thumble in the matter of the bishop’s old cob.
“Really I don’t know what to do as to getting upon him again,” said Mr. Thumble.
“If you
