Barchester Towers - Anthony Trollope (ebook reader below 3000 .txt) 📗

of such a regiment of young ravens? There are fourteen of them living! With him, at any rate, let us say that that argument would have been sufficient for the appointment of Mr. Quiverful.

In the morning Q. and his wife kept their appointments with that punctuality which bespeaks an expectant mind. The friendly farmer’s gig was borrowed, and in that they went, discussing many things by the way. They had instructed the household to expect them back by one, and injunctions were given to the eldest pledge to have ready by that accustomed hour the remainder of the huge stew which the provident mother had prepared on the previous day. The hands of the kitchen clock came round to two, three, four, before the farmer’s gig wheels were again heard at the vicarage gate. With what palpitating hearts were the returning wanderers greeted!

“I suppose, children, you all thought we were never coming back any more?” said the mother as she slowly let down her solid foot till it rested on the step of the gig. “Well, such a day as we’ve had!” and then leaning heavily on a big boy’s shoulder, she stepped once more on terra firma.

There was no need for more than the tone of her voice to tell them that all was right. The Irish stew might burn itself to cinders now.

Then there was such kissing and hugging, such crying and laughing. Mr. Quiverful could not sit still at all, but kept walking from room to room, then out into the garden, then down the avenue into the road, and then back again to his wife. She, however, lost no time so idly.

“We must go to work at once, girls, and that in earnest. Mrs. Proudie expects us to be in the hospital house on the 15th of October.”

Had Mrs. Proudie expressed a wish that they should all be there on the next morning, the girls would have had nothing to say against it.

“And when will the pay begin?” asked the eldest boy.

“Today, my dear,” said the gratified mother.

“Oh, that is jolly,” said the boy.

“Mrs. Proudie insisted on our going down to the house,” continued the mother, “and when there, I thought I might save a journey by measuring some of the rooms and windows; so I got a knot of tape from Bobbins. Bobbins is as civil as you please, now.”

“I wouldn’t thank him,” said Letty the younger.

“Oh, it’s the way of the world, my dear. They all do just the same. You might just as well be angry with the turkey cock for gobbling at you. It’s the bird’s nature.” And as she enunciated to her bairns the upshot of her practical experience, she pulled from her pocket the portions of tape which showed the length and breadth of the various rooms at the hospital house.

And so we will leave her happy in her toils.

The Quiverfuls had hardly left the palace, and Mrs. Proudie was still holding forth on the matter to her husband, when another visitor was announced in the person of Dr. Gwynne. The Master of Lazarus had asked for the bishop and not for Mrs. Proudie, and therefore when he was shown into the study, he was surprised rather than rejoiced to find the lady there.

But we must go back a little, and it shall be but a little, for a difficulty begins to make itself manifest in the necessity of disposing of all our friends in the small remainder of this one volume. Oh, that Mr. Longman would allow me a fourth! It should transcend the other three as the seventh heaven transcends all the lower stages of celestial bliss.

Going home in the carriage that evening from Ullathorne, Dr. Gwynne had not without difficulty brought round his friend the archdeacon to a line of tactics much less bellicose than that which his own taste would have preferred. “It will be unseemly in us to show ourselves in a bad humour; moreover, we have no power in this matter, and it will therefore be bad policy to act as though we had.” ’Twas thus the Master of Lazarus argued. “If,” he continued, “the bishop be determined to appoint another to the hospital, threats will not prevent him, and threats should not be lightly used by an archdeacon to his bishop. If he will place a stranger in the hospital, we can only leave him to the indignation of others. It is probable that such a step may not eventually injure your father-in-law. I will see the bishop, if you will allow me⁠—alone.” At this the archdeacon winced visibly. “Yes, alone; for so I shall be calmer; and then I shall at any rate learn what he does mean to do in the matter.”

The archdeacon puffed and blew, put up the carriage window and then put it down again, argued the matter up to his own gate, and at last gave way. Everybody was against him, his own wife, Mr. Harding, and Dr. Gwynne.

“Pray keep him out of hot water, Dr. Gwynne,” Mrs. Grantly had said to her guest.

“My dearest madam, I’ll do my best,” the courteous master had replied. ’Twas thus he did it and earned for himself the gratitude of Mrs. Grantly.

And now we may return to the bishop’s study.

Dr. Gwynne had certainly not foreseen the difficulty which here presented itself. He⁠—together with all the clerical world of England⁠—had heard it rumoured about that Mrs. Proudie did not confine herself to her wardrobes, still-rooms, and laundries; but yet it had never occurred to him that if he called on a bishop at one o’clock in the day, he could by any possibility find him closeted with his wife; or that if he did so, the wife would remain longer than necessary to make her curtsey. It appeared, however, as though in the present case Mrs. Proudie had no idea of retreating.

The bishop had been very much pleased with Dr. Gwynne on the preceding day, and of course thought that Dr. Gwynne had been as much pleased with him. He attributed the visit solely to compliment, and thought it an extremely