ceremonies, when his end came. With all his soul he loved the Cathedral,
and if he regarded himself as the principal factor in its good governance
and order he did so with a sort of divine fatalism--no credit to him that
it was so. Let credit be given to the Lord God who had seen fit to make
him what he was and to place in his hands that great charge.

His fault in the matter was, perhaps, that he took it all too simply, that
he regarded these men and the other figures in Polchester exactly as he
saw them, did not believe that they could ever be anything else. As God
had created the world, so did Brandon create Polchester as nearly in his
own likeness as might be--there they all were and there, please God, they
would all be for ever!

Bending his mind then to this new campaign, he thought that he would go
and see the Dean. He knew by this time, he fancied, exactly how to prepare
the Dean's mind for the proper reception of an idea, although, in truth,
he was as simple over his plots and plans as a child brick-building in its
nursery.

About three o'clock one afternoon he prepared to sally forth. The Dean's
house was on the other side of the Cathedral, and you had to go down the
High Street and then to the left up Orange Street to get to it, an
irrational roundabout proceeding that always irritated the Archdeacon.
Very splendid he looked, his top-hat shining, his fine high white collar,
his spotless black clothes, his boots shapely and smart. (He and Bentinck-
Major were, I suppose, the only two clergymen in Polchester who used boot-
trees.) But his smartness was in no way an essential with him. Clothed in
rags he would still have the grand air. "I often think of him," Miss
Dobell once said, "as one of those glorious gondoliers in Venice. How
grand he would look!"