start, it was horribly frightening; a movement
passed through the limbs and the old man was dead. The machine had run
down. The bluebottle buzzed, buzzed noisily against the windowpane.

CXII

Josiah Graves in his masterful way made arrangements, becoming but
economical, for the funeral; and when it was over came back to the
vicarage with Philip. The will was in his charge, and with a due sense of
the fitness of things he read it to Philip over an early cup of tea. It
was written on half a sheet of paper and left everything Mr. Carey had to
his nephew. There was the furniture, about eighty pounds at the bank,
twenty shares in the A. B. C. company, a few in Allsop's brewery, some in
the Oxford music-hall, and a few more in a London restaurant. They had
been bought under Mr. Graves' direction, and he told Philip with
satisfaction:

"You see, people must eat, they will drink, and they want amusement.
You're always safe if you put your money in what the public thinks
necessities."

His words showed a nice discrimination between the grossness of the
vulgar, which he deplored but accepted, and the finer taste of the elect.
Altogether in investments there was about five hundred pounds; and to that
must be added the balance at the bank and what the furniture would fetch.
It was riches to Philip. He was not happy but infinitely relieved.

Mr. Graves left him, after they had discussed the auction which must be
held as soon as possible, and Philip sat himself down to go through the
papers of the deceased. The Rev. William Carey had prided himself on never
destroying anything, and there were piles of correspondence dating back
for fifty years and bundles upon bundles of neatly docketed bills. He had
kept not only letters addressed to him, but letters which himself had
written. There was a yellow packet of letters which he had written to his
father in the forties, when as an Oxford undergraduate he had gone to
Germany for the long vacation. Philip read them idly. It was a different
William Carey from the William Carey he had known, and yet there were
traces in the boy which might to an acute observer have suggested the man.
The letters were formal and a little stilted. He showed himself strenuous
to see all that was noteworthy, and he described with a fine enthusiasm
the castles of the Rhine. The falls of Schaffhausen made him 'offer
reverent thanks to the all-powerful Creator of the universe, whose works
were wondrous a