"Why, George; how late you are, and--how wet! Is it raining?"

"Yes; hard."

"Have you bought the ponies?"

"No; they won't do at all. But whom do you think I picked up on the way
home? You will never guess. Your pet parson, Mr. Austyn."

"Mr. Austyn!"

"Yes; I found him by the roadside not far from Monk's cottage, where he
had been visiting, looking sadly at a spring-cart, which the owner
thereof, one of the Rood Warren farmers, had managed to upset and damage
considerably. He was giving Austyn a lift home when the spill took
place. So, remembering your hankering and Lindy's for the society of
this young Ritualist, I persuaded him that instead of tramping six miles
through the wet he should come here and put up for the night with us;
so, leaving the farmer free to get home on his pony, I clinched the
matter by promising to send him back to-morrow in time for his eight
o'clock service."

"Oh dear! I wish I had known he was coming. I would have ordered a
dinner he would like."

"Judging by his appearance, I should say the dinner he would like will
be easily provided."

Atherley was right. Mr. Austyn's dinner consisted of soup, bread, and