per to casual
guest was supposed to stand on his own feet, the Missioner himself felt
that he must offer an example of independence.

"You're spoiling me, Mark Anthony," he said one day. "There's nothing
for me to do this evening."

"I know," Mark agreed contentedly. "I want to give you a rest for once."

"Rest?" the priest echoed. "You don't seriously expect a fat man like me
to sit down in an armchair and rest, do you? Besides, you've got your
own reading to do, and you didn't come to Chatsea as my punkah walla."

Mark insisted that he was getting along in his own way quite fast
enough, and that he had plenty of time on his hands to keep Father
Rowley's correspondence in some kind of order.

"All these other people have any amount to do," said Mark. "Cartwright
has his boys every evening and Warrender has his men."

"And Mark Anthony has nothing but a fat, poverty-stricken, slothful
mission priest," Father Rowley gurgled.

"Yes, and you're more trouble than all the rest put together. Look here,
I've written to the Bishop's chaplain about that confirmation; I
explained why we wanted to hold a special confirmation for these two
boys we are emigrating, and he has written back to say that the Bishop
has no objection to a special confirmation's being held by the Bishop of
Matabeleland when he comes to stay here next week. At the same time, he
says the Bishop doesn't want it to become a precedent."

"No. I can quite understand that," Father Rowley chuckled. "Bishops are
haunted by the creation of precedents. A precedent in the life of a
bishop is like an illegitimate child in the life of a respectable
churchwarden. No, the only thing I fear is that if I devour all your
spare time you won't get quite what you wanted to get by coming to live
with us."

He laid a fat hand on Mark's shoulder.

"Please don't bother about me," said Mark. "I get all I want and more
than I expected if I can be of the least use to you. I know I'm rather
disappointing you by not behaving like half the people who come down
here and want to get up a concert on Monday, a dance on Tuesday, a
conjuring entertainment on Wednesday, a street procession on Thursday, a
day of intercession on Friday, and an amateur dramatic entertainment on
Saturday, not to mention acting as ceremonarius on Sunday. I know you'd
like me to propose all sorts of energetic diversions, so that you could
have the pleasure of assuring me that I was only proposing them to
g