"God forbid!" said the curate; "I was not aware of your presence. I did not even know you were in the town yesterday." "You must have had some one in your mind's eye. No man could speak as you did this morning, who addressed mere abstract humanity." "I will not say that individuals did not come up before me; how can a man help it where he knows every body in his congregation more or less? But I give you my word, sir, I never thought of you." "Then you might have done so with the greatest propriety," returned the rector. "My conscience sided with you all the time. You found me out. I've got a bit of the muscle they call a heart left in me yet, though it _has_ got rather leathery.--But what do they mean when they say you are setting the parish by the ears?" "I don't know, sir. I have heard of no quarreling. I have made some enemies, but they are not very dangerous, and I hope not very bitter ones; and I have made many more friends, I am sure." "What they tell me is, that your congregation is divided--that they take sides for and against you, which is a most undesirable thing, surely!" "It is indeed; and yet it may be a thing that, for a time, can not be helped. Was there ever a man with the cure of souls, concerning whom there has not been more or less of such division? But, if you will have patience with me, sir, I am bold to say, believing in the force and final victory of the truth, there will be more unity by and by." "I don't doubt it. But come now!--you are a thoroughly good fellow--that, a blind horse could see in the dimmits--and I'm accountable for the parish--couldn't you draw it a little milder, you know? couldn't you make it just a little less peculiar--only the way of putting it, I mean--so that it should look a little more like what they have been used to? I'm only suggesting the thing, you know--dictating nothing, on my soul, Mr. Wingfold. I am sure that, whatever you do, you will act according to your own conscience, otherwise I should not venture to say a word, lest I should lead you wrong." "If you will allow me," said the curate, "I will tell you my whole story; and then if you should wish it, I will resign my curacy, without saying a word more than that my rector thinks it better. Neither in private shall I make a single remark in a different spirit." "Let me hear," said the rector. "Then if you will please take this chair, that I may know that I am not wearying you bodily at least." The rector did as he was requested, laid his head back, crossed his legs, and folded his hands over his worn waist-coat: he was not one of the neat order of parsons; he had a not unwholesome disregard of his outermost man, and did not know when he was shabby. Without an atom of pomposity or air rectorial, he settled himself to listen.