Probably, Eddy decided, after working for a week in Southwark, the thing to be was a clergyman. Clergymen get their teeth into something; they make things move; you can see results, which is so satisfactory. They can point to a man, or a society, and say, “Here you are; I made this. I found him a worm and no man, and left him a human being,” or, “I found them scattered and unmoral units, and left them a Band of Hope, or a Mothers’ Union.” It is a great work. Eddy caught the spirit of it, and threw himself vigorously into men’s clubs and lads’ brigades, and boy scouts, and all the other organisations that flourished in the parish of St. Gregory, under the Reverend Anthony Finch and his assistant clergy. Father Finch, as he was called in the parish, was a stout, bright man, shrewd, and merry, and genial, and full of an immense energy and power of animating the inanimate. He had set all kinds of people and institutions on their feet, and given them a push to start them and keep them in motion. So his parish was a live parish, in a state of healthy circulation. Father Finch was emphatically a worker. Dogma and ritual, though certainly essential to his view of life, did not occupy the prominent place given to them by, for instance, his senior curate, Hillier. Hillier was the supreme authority on ecclesiastical ceremonial. It was he who knew, without referring to a book, all the colours of all the festivals and vigils; and what cere-cloths and maniples were; it was he who decided how many candles were demanded at the festal evensong of each saint, and what vestments were suitable to be worn in procession, and all the other things that lay people are apt to think get done for themselves, but which really give a great deal of trouble and thought to some painstaking organiser. Hillier had genial and sympathetic manners with the poor, was very popular in the parish, belonged to eight religious guilds, wore the badges of all of them on his watch-chain, and had been educated at a county school and a theological college. The junior curate, James Peters, was a jolly young cricketer of twenty-four, and had been at Marlborough and Cambridge with Eddy; he was, in fact, the man who had persuaded Eddy to come and help in St. Gregory’s.