ere?" said the archdeacon.

"Exchange for a living. There's Quiverful, of Puddingdale;--he has
twelve children, and would be delighted to get the hospital. To
be sure Puddingdale is only four hundred, but that would be saving
something out of the fire: Mr Harding would have a curate, and still
keep three hundred or three hundred and fifty."

The archdeacon opened his ears and listened; he really thought the
scheme might do.

"The newspapers," continued Mr Cummins, "might hammer away at
Quiverful every day for the next six months without his minding
them."

The archdeacon took up his hat, and returned to his hotel, thinking
the matter over deeply. At any rate he would sound Quiverful. A man
with twelve children would do much to double his income.

Chapter XX

FAREWELL

On the morning after Mr Harding's return home he received a note from
the bishop full of affection, condolence, and praise. "Pray come to
me at once," wrote the bishop, "that we may see what had better be
done; as to the hospital, I will not say a word to dissuade you; but I
don't like your going to Crabtree: at any rate, come to me at once."

Mr Harding did go to him at once; and long and confidential was the
consultation between the two old friends. There they sat together
the whole long day, plotting to get the better of the archdeacon, and
to carry out little schemes of their own, which they knew would be
opposed by the whole weight of his authority.

The bishop's first idea was, that Mr Harding, if left to himself,
would certainly starve,--not in the figurative sense in which so many
of our ladies and gentlemen do starve on incomes from one to five
hundred a year; not that he would be starved as regarded dress coats,
port wine, and pocket-money; but that he would positively perish of
inanition for want of bread.

"How is a man to live, when he gives up all his income?" said the
bishop to himself. And then the good-natured little man began to
consider how his friend might be best rescued from a death so horrid
and painful.

His first proposition to Mr Harding was, that they should live
together at the palace. He, the bishop, positively assured Mr Harding
that he wanted another resident chaplain,--not a young working
chaplain, but a steady, middle-aged chaplain; one who would dine and
drink a glass of wine with him, talk about the archdeacon, and poke
the fire. The bishop did not positively name all these duties, but
he