one, and had only succeeded because of a multitude of self-submissions and
abnegations, humilities and contempts, flatteries and sycophancies that
would have tired and defeated a less determined soul. But, in the
background, there were the figures of Mrs. Bond and four little Bonds to
spur him forward. He adored his family. "Whatever I am, I'm a family man,"
was one of his favourite sayings. In so worthy a cause much sycophancy may
be forgiven him. To no one, however, was he so completely sycophantic as
to the Archdeacon. He was terrified of the Archdeacon; he would wake up in
the middle of the night and think of him, then tremble and cower under the
warm protection of Mrs. Bond until sleep rescued him once more.

It was natural, therefore, that however numerous the people in Polchester
might be whom the Archdeacon despised, he despised little Bond most of
all. And here was little Bond pressed up against him, with the large
circumference of the cheerful Mr. Samuel Hogg near by, and the ironical
town smartness of Messrs. Curtis and Croppet close at hand. Truly a
horrible position.

"Ah, Archdeacon! I didn't see you--indeed I didn't!" The little breathless
voice was like a child's penny whistle blown ignerantly. "Just fancy!--
meeting you like this! Hot, isn't it, although it's only February. Yes....
Hot indeed. I didn't know you cared for processions, Arch-deacon----"

"I don't," said Brandon. "I hadn't realised that there was a procession.
Stupidly, I had forgotten----"

"Well, well," came the good-natured voice of Mr. Hogg. "It'll do us no
harm, Archdeacon--no harm at all. I forget whether you rightly know my
little girl. This is Annie--come out to see the procession with her
father."