place and the Cathedral than I have?"

"No, dear."

"Well, then.... There's this new fellow Ronder coming to-day. Don't know
much about him, but he won't give much trouble, I expect--trouble in the
way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiously.
I've just about got that Chapter moving at last. Ten years' hard work.
Deserve a V.C. or something. Hey?"

"Yes, dear, I'm sure you do."

The Archdeacon gave one of his well-known roars of laughter--a laugh
famous throughout the county, a laugh described by his admirers as
"Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however, enemies
or no enemies, something sympathetic in that laugh, something boyish and
simple and honest.

He suddenly pulled himself up, bringing his long legs close against his
broad chest.

"No letter from Falk to-day, was there?"

"No, dear."

"Humph. That's three weeks we haven't heard. Hope there's nothing wrong."

"What could there be wrong, dear?"

"Nothing, of course.... Well, Joan, and what have you been doing with