"Not at all, not at all," he said cheerily."In a mere lay reader, a slight laxity is allowable.You understand, of course, that you are expressly restricted from the pulpit.You will have to read the lessons, conduct the service, and may address the congregation upon matters not homiletic nor doctrinal; preaching and actual entry into the pulpit are defended.But I see excellent possibility in you.Perform the duties punctually in this very lowly office, and high ranks of service in the church militant will be open."He put on a very fine shovel-hat, and led the way to his large touringcar.
It was a very uncomfortable ride for Gissing.A silk hat is the leaststable apparel for swift motoring, and the chauffeur drove at high speed.The Bishop, leaning back in the open tonneau, crossed one delicately slender shank over another, gazed in a kind of ecstasy at the countryside, and talked gaily about his days as a young curate.Gissing sat holding his hat on.He saw only too well that, by the humiliating oddity of chance, they were going to take the road that led exactly past his own house.He could only hope that Mrs.Spaniel and the various children would not be visible, for explanations would be too complicated.Desperately he praised the view to be obtained on another road, but Bishop Borzoi was too interested in his own topic to pay much attention.
"By the way," said the latter, as they drew near the familiar region, "I must introduce you to Miss Airedale.She lives in the big place on the hill over there.Her family always used to attend what I will now call YOUR chapel; she is a very ardent churchgoer, and it was a sincere grief to her when the place had to be closed.You will find her a great aid and comfort; not only that, she is--what one does not always find in the devouter members of her ***--young and beautiful.I think I understood you to say you are a bachelor?"They were approaching the last turning at which it was still possible to avoid the fatal road, and Gissing's attention was divided.
"Yes, after a fashion," he replied."Bishop, do you know that road down into the valley? The view is really superb--Yes, that road--Oh, no, I am a bachelor--"It was too late.The chauffeur, unconscious of this private crisis, was spinning along the homeward way.With a tender emotion Gissing saw the spires of the poplar trees, the hemlocks down beyond the pond, the fringe of woods that concealed the house until you were quite upon it--The car swerved suddenly and the driver only saved it by a quick and canny manoeuvre from going down the bank.He came to a stop, and almost from underneath the rear wheels appeared a scuffling dusty group of youngsters who had been playing in the road.There they were-- Bunks, Groups, and Yelpers (inordinately grown!) and two of the Spaniels.Their clothes were deplorable, their faces grimed, their legs covered with burrs, their whole demeanour was ragamuffin and wild: yet Gissing felt a pangof pride to see his godchildren's keen, independent bearing contracted with the rowdier, disreputable look of the young Spaniels.Quickly he averted his head to escape recognition.But the urchins were all gaping at the Bishop's shovel hat.
"Hot dog!" cried Yelpers "Some hat!"
To his horror, Gissing now saw Mrs.Spaniel, hastening in alarm down from the house, spilling potatoes from her apron as she ran.He hurriedly urged the driver to proceed.
"What terrible looking children," observed the Bishop, who seemed fascinated by their stare."Really, my good sister," he said to Mrs.Spaniel, who was now panting by the running board; "you must keep them off the road or someone will get hurt."Gissing was looking for an imaginary object on the floor of the car.To his great relief he heard the roar of the motor as they started again.But he sat up a little too soon.A simultaneous roar of "Daddy!" burst from the trio.
"What was that they were shouting at us?" inquired the Bishop, looking back.
Gissing shook his head.He was too overcome to speak.
