"Well, well,--whoever they are, they want to see the church."
"Seems to me a sight o' folks wants to see the church since ye spent so much money on it, Passon," said Bainton somewhat resentfully; "There oughter be a charge made for entry."
Walden smiled thoughtfully; but there was a small line of vexation on his brow.
"They want to see the church," he repeated, "Or rather Sir Morton wants them to 'inspect' the church;"--and then his smile expanded and became a soft mellow laugh; "What a pompous old fellow it is! One would almost think he had restored the church himself, and not only restored it, but built it altogether and endowed it!" He turned to go, then suddenly bethought himself of other gardening matters,-- "Bainton, that bare corner near the house must be filled with clematis. The plants are just ready to bed out. And look to the geraniums in the front border. By the way, do you see that straight line along the wall there,--where I am pointing?"
"Yes, sir!" dutifully rejoined Bainton, shading his eyes from the strong sun with one grimy hand.
"Well, plant nothing but hollyhocks there,--as many as you can cram in. We must have a blaze of colour to contrast with those dark yews. See to the jessamine and passion-flowers by the porch; and there is a 'Gloire' rose near the drawing-room window that wants cutting back a bit." He moved a step or two, then again turned: "I shall want you later on in the orchard,--the grass there needs attending to."
A slow grin pervaded Bainton's countenance.
"Ye minds me of the 'Oly Scripter, Passon, ye does reely now!" he said--"Wi' all yer different orders an' idees, y'are behavin' to me like the very moral o' the livin' Wurrd!"
Walden looked amused.
"How do you make that out?"
"Easy enough, sir,--'The Scripter moveth us in sun'ry places'! Hor!- hor!-hor!--"and Bainton burst into a hoarse chuckle of mirth, entirely delighted with his own witticism, and walked off, not waiting to see whether its effect on his master was one of offence or appreciation. He was pretty sure of his ground, however, for he left John Walden laughing, a laugh that irradiated his face with some of the sunshine stored up in his mind. And the sparkle of mirth still lingered in his eyes as, crossing the lawn and passing the seat where the volume of Epictetus lay, now gratuitously decorated by a couple of pale pink shell-like petals dropped from the apple- blossoms above it, he entered his house, and proceeding to his study sat down and wrote the following brief epistle: "The Reverend John Walden presents his compliments to Sir Morton Pippitt, and in reply to his note begs to say that, as the church is always open and free, Sir Morton and his friends can 'inspect' it at any time provided no service is in progress."