Doncaster. The farmers had talked with dreamy complacency of inevitable ruin, and seemed to be sheathing themselves in fat as they progressed comfortably to the Bankruptcy Court. There had been a good many clergymen travelling by the same train for short distances, and they seemed as learned in matters agricultural as their parishioners. One, indeed, had spoken of chemistry and scientific agriculture, and certain classes that were spoken of for the farmers, with professors from London, and the farmers had listened with tolerant contempt, but with the evident conviction that nothing was to be learned from gentlemen in London. “I went to one o’ the classes when I was staying with my missus’ brother, Selby way. An’ if he didn’t talk of oxides an’ nitrates. If he’d ha’ talked about poor-rates and sheep scab there’d ha’ been some sense in it.” Edward Beaumont did not anticipate his stay at Caistorholm Vicarage without some inward trepidation. To begin with, he did not quite know what manner of man an Archdeacon might be. He had a vague memory that Lord Palmerston had defined an Archdeacon to be a priest who discharged archidiaconal functions; but that did not seem to help him much. His own acquaintance among ministers of religion lay chiefly among the professors of dissenting doctrines with whom his political activities had brought him into contact on the Liberal Two Hundred and on platforms. He bethought him of two doctors of divinity of his own town, one a pillar of Congregationalism, a Scotchman, long, lean, ascetic, but a scholar; the other a Boanerges of the Baptist faith, loud, blatant, pushing, with an American degree. A week of either in the enforced companionship of a country house would be badly paid by any fee the most indulgent taxing-master would be likely to approve. But an Archdeacon! That might mean anything from a prince of the Church, haughty, dignified unconsciously patronizing, to a country vicar with a sounding title, but differing only from an educated farmer in the necessity of preaching a sermon a week to a sprinkling of clodhoppers and pensioners. “Anyhow, I won’t be patronized!” resolved Edward, as he drew near his destination. “If I find the place too much of a bore, or too much against the grain, I can either chuck the thing altogether or send Storth. He’s got a better stomach for spattle than I have, and if there’s a decent inn in the place, with a respectable tap, Master Sam will comfort himself o’ nights for the ennui of the days.”