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Jerome went out to meet his guest, whom he greeted outside the door. 'Mr. Tryan, how do you do, Mr. Tryan? Welcome to the White House! I'm glad to see you, sir I'm glad to see you.
"Well, Joe, ef your boots are new, and you aren't pestered with wimmin and children, p'r'aps you'll go," said Tryan, with a nervous twitching, intended for a smile, about a mouth not remarkably mirthful. Tom lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows, and said shortly: "Got no saddle." "Wot's gone of your saddle?"
Before November was over Mr. Tryan had ceased to go out. A new crisis had come on: the cough had changed its character, and the worst symptoms developed themselves so rapidly that Mr. Pratt began to think the end would arrive sooner than he had expected. Janet became a constant attendant on him now, and no one could feel that she was performing anything but a sacred office.
I heard 'em first in the creek, when they came to tell the old man to move farther off. They came nearer and nearer. They whispered under the door, and I saw their eyes on the step, their cruel, hard eyes. Ah! why don't they quit?" I tell the men to search the room and see if they can find any farther traces of the family, while Tryan resumes his old attitude.
One bore, 'Down with the Tryanites! another, 'No Cant! another, 'Long live our venerable Curate! and one in still larger letters, 'Sound Church Principles and no Hypocrisy! But a still more remarkable impromptu was a huge caricature of Mr. Tryan in gown and band, with an enormous aureole of yellow hair and upturned eyes, standing on the pulpit stairs and trying to pull down old Mr. Crewe.
At the mention of improvements I involuntarily lifted my eyes, and met the half-laughing, half-embarrassed look of George. The act did not escape detection, and I had at once the satisfaction of seeing that the rest of the family had formed an offensive alliance against us. "It was agin nater and agin God," added Tryan.
The sympathy of this simple-minded old man was more precious to Mr. Tryan than any mere onlooker could have imagined.
Tryan was an insult to a man deep in years and learning; moreover, it was an insolent effort to thrust himself forward in a parish where he was clearly distasteful to the superior portion of its inhabitants.
'He must be a poor shuperannyated sort of a bishop, that's my opinion, said Mr. Tomlinson, 'to go along with a sneaking Methodist like Tryan. And, for my part, I think we should be as well wi'out bishops, if they're no wiser than that. Where's the use o' havin' thousands a-year an' livin' in a pallis, if they don't stick to the Church? 'No.
They were like violets made vile by the very light that was designed to make them lovely. Mr. Tryan, Mr. Jerome and Mrs. Pettifer, on the other hand, opened their hearts to the love of God as the rose opens its petals to the light of the sun. Their religion was a revelry to them.
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