any time provided no service is in progress."

Putting this in an envelope, he sealed and stamped it. It should go
by post, and Sir Morton would receive it next morning. There was no
need for a 'special messenger,' either in the person of Bob Keeley,
or in the authorised Puck of the Post Office Messenger-service.

"For there is not the slightest hurry," he said to himself: "It will
not hurt Sir Morton to be kept waiting. On the contrary, it will do
him good. He had it all his own way in this parish before I came,--
but now for the past ten years he has known what it is to 'kick
against the pricks' of legitimate Church authority. Legitimate
Church authority is a fine thing! Half the Churchmen in the world
don't use it, and a goodly portion of the other half misuse it. But
when you've got a bumptious, purse-proud, self-satisfied old county
snob like Sir Morton Pippitt to deal with, the pressure of the iron
hand should be distinctly exercised under the velvet glove!"

He laughed heartily, throwing back his head with a sense of
enjoyment in his laughter. Then, rising from his desk, he turned
towards the wide latticed doors of his study, which opened into the
garden, and looked out dreamily, as though looking across the world
and far beyond it. The sweet mixed warbling of birds, the thousand
indistinguishable odours of flowers, made the air both fragrant and
musical. The glorious sunshine, the clear blue sky, the rustling of
the young leaves, the whispering swish of the warm wind through the
shrubberies,--all these influences entered the mind and soul of the
man and aroused a keen joy which almost touched the verge of
sadness. Life pulsated about him in such waves of creative passion,
that his own heart throbbed uneasily with Nature's warm