“Certainly not, if there is no truth in the story,” the curate replied, looking down with his eyes half shut at the chafing little man. “But I suppose it is all an invention, Gregg?” “It is not an invention that the rector was abominably rude to me,” blurted out the doctor, who scarcely knew with whom to be most angry—his present tormentor or the first cause of his trouble. “Pooh!” said Clode, “it is only his way.” “Then it is a d——, it is a most unpleasant way!” retorted the doctor savagely. “He means no harm,” said the curate gaily. “Why did you not answer him back?” Dr. Gregg’s face turned a shade redder. That was where the shoe pinched. Why had he not answered him back as Bonamy had, and not stood mute, acknowledging himself the smaller man? That was what was troubling him now, and making him fancy himself the laughing-stock of the town. “I will answer him back in a way he will not like!” he cried viciously, striving to hide his embarrassment under a show of bluster. “Tut-t-tut!” said the curate provokingly, “do not go and make a fool of yourself by saying things like that, when you know you don’t mean them, man. What can you say to the rector?” “I will ask him——” But what he would ask the rector was lost to the world, for at this moment Mr. Bonamy, coming down the pavement behind him, touched his sleeve. “I have just been to your house, doctor,” he said. “My youngest girl is a little out of sorts. Would you mind stepping in and seeing her?” Gregg swallowed his wrath, and was perhaps thankful for the interruption. He said he would; and the lawyer turned to Mr. Clode. “Well,” he said, “so you have made up your minds to fight?” “I am not quite sure,” said the curate, with caution—for he knew better than to treat Mr. Bonamy as he treated Gregg—“that I take you.” “You have not seen your principal this morning?” replied the lawyer, with a smile which for him was almost benevolent. The prospect of a fight was as the Mountains of Beulah to him. “Do you mean Mr. Lindo?” said the curate, with some curtness. The lawyer nodded. “I see you have not,” he continued. “Perhaps you do not know that he turned the sheep out of the churchyard after breakfast this morning, and half of them were found nearly a mile down the Red Lane!” “I did not know it,” said the curate gravely. But it was as much as he could do to restrain his exultation and show no sign save of concern. “Well, it is the fact,” the lawyer replied, rubbing his hands. “It is quite true he gave the church wardens notice to remove them a fortnight ago; but we did not comply, because we say it is our affair and not his. Now you may tell him from me that the only question in my mind is the form of action.” “I will tell him,’ said the curate with dignity. “Just so! What do you say, Gregg?”