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Was it, after all, quite wise that Wistons should come here? Would that same comfort, so rightly valued by Ronder, be quite assured in the future if Wistons were at Pybus? Wouldn't some nincompoop like Forsyth be perhaps, after all, his best choice? Ronder suddenly ceased to wish to give pennies to little children or a present to Brandon. He was, very justly, irritated.
A very beautiful village it was, with orchards and a stream and old-world cottages and a fine Norman church. But not for its orchards nor its stream nor its church was it famous. It was famous because for many years its listing had been regarded as one of the most important in the whole diocese of Polchester. It was the tradition that the man who went to Pybus St.
They were discussing the Pybus appointment. The religion of the spirit! Well, who wasn't for that? As to dogma, Ronder had never laid very great stress upon it. A matter of words very largely. He looked out to the garden, where a tree, scooped now like a great green fan against the blue-white sky, was shading the sun's rays. Lovely! Lovely!
I used to think him so strong that he could beat down anybody, and now I feel he wants looking after all the time. Perhaps he never was really strong at all, but it was all on the outside. All the same he's very brave too. He knows all the town's been talking about him, but I think he'd face a whole world of Polchesters if he could only beat Canon Ronder over the Pybus appointment. If Mr.
But we are fighting a battle for the Pybus living and for nothing more nor less than that. "If my own brother wanted that living and was not the right man for it I would fight him. The Archdeacon does not see the thing at present as we do; it is possible that very shortly he may. As soon as he does I'm behind him." Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said.
The boy thought the world of Ronder, it was said, and had been to see him and ask his advice. Ronder knew that Brandon had heard this story and was publicly declaring that Ronder had ruined his son. Finally the two men were brought into sharp rivalry over the Pybus living. Over that, too, the town, or at any rate the Cathedral section of it, was in two camps.
Campaigns were indeed as truly the breath of the Archdeacon's nostrils as they had been once of the great Napoleon's and in every one of them had the Archdeacon been victorious. This one was to be the greatest of them all, and was to set the sign and seal upon the whole of his career. It happened that, three miles out of Polchester, there was a little village known as Pybus St. Anthony.
He must think now only of one thing; there were others pictures, ideas, memories, fears, horrors even crowding, hovering close about him, and afterwards after Pybus he would attend to them. Only one thing mattered now. "Yes, you gibbering idiots, do your worst; knock me down. Come on four to one like the cowards that you are, strike me in the back, take my wife from me, and ruin my house.
He looked at the fixed obstinacy of the Archdeacon's face and said: "Poor Morrison! So he's gone. I never knew him, but he must have been a fine fellow. And the Pybus living is vacant." Brandon said nothing. "An important decision that will be I beg your pardon. That's my knee again. "It's to be hoped that they will find a good man."
Pen, with some excitement. "Mrs. Pybus says there is a very pretty girl in the family, Arthur," Laura said, who was as kind and thoughtful upon this point as women generally are: "a Miss Amory, Lady Clavering's daughter by her first marriage. Of course, you will fall in love with her as soon as she arrives." Helen cried out, "Don't talk nonsense, Laura."
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