Mr Thorne had confessed the iniquity, had dismissed the murderous gamekeeper, and all was serene. But the greater on that account was the feasibility of discussing the question, and the archdeacon had a good deal to say about it. Then Mr Thorne turned to the new vicar, and asked him whether foxes abounded in Hogglestock. Had he been asked as to the rats or moles, he would have known more about it.
'Indeed, sir, I know not whether or no there be any foxes in the parish of Hogglestock. I do not remember me that I ever saw one. It is an animal whose habits I have not watched.'
'There is an earth at Hoggle Bushes,' said the major; 'and I never knew it without a litter.'
'I think I know the domestic whereabouts of every fox in Plumstead,' said the archdeacon, with an ill-natured intention of astonishing Mr Crawley.
'Of foxes with two legs our friend is speaking, without doubt,' said the vicar of St Ewold's, with an attempt at grim pleasantry.
'Of them we have none at Plumstead. No--I was speaking of the dear old fellow with the brush. Pass the bottle, Mr Crawley. Won't you fill your glass?' Mr Crawley passed the bottle, but would not fill the glass. Then the dean, looking up slyly, saw the vexation written in the archdeacon's face. The parson whom the archdeacon feared most of all was the parson who wouldn't fill his glass.
Then the subject was changed. 'I'm told that the bishop has at last made his reappearance on his throne,' said the archdeacon.
'He was in the cathedral last Sunday,' said the dean.
'Does he ever mean to preach again?' 'He never did preach very often,' said the dean.
'A great deal too often, from all people say,' said the archdeacon. 'Inever heard him myself, and never shall, I daresay. You have heard him, Mr Crawley?'
'I have never had that good fortune, Mr Archdeacon. But living as Ishall now do, so near to the city, I may perhaps be enabled to attend the cathedral service on some holy-day of the Church, which may not require prayers in my own rural parish. I think that the clergy of the diocese should be acquainted with the opinions, and with the voice, and with the very manner and words of their bishop. As things are now done, this is not possible. I could wish that there were occasions on which a bishop might assemble his clergy, and preach to them sermons adapted to their use.'
'What do you call a bishop's charge, then?'
'It is usually in the printed form that I have received it,' said Mr Crawley.
'I think we have had quite enough of that kind of thing,' said the archdeacon.
'He is a man whose conversation is not pleasing to me,' Mr Crawley said to his wife that night.
'Do not judge him too quickly, Josiah,' his wife said. 'There is so much of good in him! He is kind, and generous, and I think affectionate.'
'But he is of the earth, earthy. When you and the other ladies had retired, the conversation at first fell on the habits and value of--foxes. I have been informed that in these parts the fox is greatly prized, as without a fox to run before the dogs, that scampering over the country which is called hunting, and which delights by the quickness and perhaps the peril of the exercise, is not relished by the riders. Of the wisdom or taste herein displayed by the hunters of the day I say nothing. But it seemed to me that in talking of foxes Dr Grantly was master of his subject. Thence the topic glided to the duties of a bishop and to questions of preaching, as to which Dr Grantly was not slow in offering his opinion. But I thought that I would rather have heard him talk about the foxes for a week together.' She said nothing more to him, knowing well how useless it was to attempt to turn him by any argument.
To her thinking the kindness of the archdeacon to them personally demanded some indulgence in the expression, and even in the formation, of an opinion, respecting his clerical peculiarities.
On the next day, however, Mr Crawley, having been summoned by the archdeacon into the library for a little private conversation, found that he got on better with him. How the archdeacon conquered him may perhaps be best described by a further narration of what Mr Crawley told his wife. 'I told him that in regard to money matters, as he called them, I had nothing to say. I only trusted that his son was aware that my daughter had no money, and never would have any. "My dear Crawley,"the archdeacon said--for of late there seems to have grown up in the world a habit of greater familiarity than that which I think did prevail when last I moved much among men--"my dear Crawley, I have enough for both." "I would we stood on more equal ground," I said. Then as he answered me, he rose from his chair. "We stand," said he, "on the perfect level on which men can meet each other. We are both gentlemen.""Sir," I said, rising also, "from the bottom of the heart I agree with you. I could not have spoken such words; but coming from you who are rich to me am poor, they are honourable to the one and comfortable to the other."'
'And after that?'
'He took down from the shelves a volume of some sermons which his father published many years ago, and presented to me. I have it now under my arm. It hath the old bishop's manuscript notes, which I will study carefully.' And thus the archdeacon had hit his bird on both wings.