‘And am I a thief?’ he said to himself,
standing in the middle of the road, with his hands
up to his forehead.
THE BISHOP’S ANGEL
It was nearly nine before Mr Crawley got back to his
house, and found his wife and daughter waiting breakfast
for him. ’I should not wonder if Grace
were over here today,’ said Mrs Crawley.
’She’d better remain where she is,’
said he. After this the meal passed almost without
a word. When it was over, Jane, at a sign from
her mother, went up to her father and asked him whether
she should read with him. ‘Not now,’
he said, ’not just now. I must rest my
brain before it will be fit for any work.’
Then he got into the chair over the fire, and his wife
began to fear that he would remain there all day.
But the day was not far advanced, when there came
a visitor who disturbed him, and by disturbing him
did him a real service. Just at ten there arrived
at the little gate before the house a man on a pony,
whom Jane espied, standing there by the pony’s
head and looking about for someone to relieve him
of the charge of the steed. This was Mr Thumble,
who had ridden over to Hogglestock on a poor spavined
brute belonging to the bishop’s stable, and
which had once been the bishop’s cob. Now
it was the vehicle by which Mrs Proudie’s episcopal
messages were sent backwards and forwards through
a twelve-miles ride round Barchester; and so many
were the lady’s requirements, that the poor animal
by no means ate the hay of idleness. Mr Thumble
had suggested to Mrs Proudie, after their interview
with the bishop and the giving up of the letter to
the clerical messenger’s charge, that before
hiring a gig from the Dragon of Wantley, he should
be glad to know—looking as he always did
to ’Mary Anne and the children’—whence
the price of the gig was to be returned to him.
Mrs Proudie had frowned at him—not with
all the austerity of frowning which she could use
when really angered, but simply with a frown which
gave her some little time for thought, and would enable
her to continue to rebuke if, after thinking, she
should find that rebuke was needed. But mature
consideration showed her that Mr Thumble’s caution
was not without reason. Were the bishop energetic—or
even the bishop’s managing chaplain as energetic
as he should be, Mr Crawley might, as Mrs Proudie
felt assured, be made in some way to pay for a conveyance
for Mr Thumble. But the energy was lacking, and
the price of the gig, if the gig were ordered, would
certainly fall ultimately on the bishop’s shoulders.
This was very sad. Mrs Proudie had often grieved
over the necessary expenditure of episcopal surveillance,
and had been heard to declare her opinion that a liberal
allowance for secret service should be made in every
diocese. What better could the Ecclesiastical
Commission do with all those rich revenues which they
had stolen from the bishops? But there was no
such liberal allowance at present, and therefore,
Mrs Proudie, after having frowned at Mr Thumble for
some seconds, desired him to take the grey cob.
Now, Mr Thumble had ridden the grey cob before, and
would have much preferred a gig. But even the
grey cob was better than a gig at his own cost.
