hire THIS. This is too expensive and grand for us, Hosy. Look
at the grass to cut and the flowers to attend to, and the house to run.
No wonder the servants have 'quarters.' My soul and body! I thought a
rector was a kind of minister, and a rectory was a sort of parsonage,
but I guess I'm off my course, as Father used to say. Either that or
ministers' wages are higher than they are in Bayport. No, this place
isn't for you and me, Hosy."

But it was. Before we left that rectory in the afternoon I had agreed
to lease it until the middle of September, servants--there were five
of them, groom and gardener included--horse and trap, tennis court,
vegetable garden, fruit, flowers and all. It developed that the terms,
which I had considered rather too high for my purse, included the
servants' wages, vegetables from the garden, strawberries and other
"small fruit"--everything. Even food for the horse was included in that
all-embracing rent.

As Hephzy said, everything considered, the rent of Mayberry Rectory was
lower than that of a fair-sized summer cottage at Bayport.

The Reverend Mr. Cole was a delightful gentleman. His wife was equally
kind and agreeable. I think they were, at first, rather unpleasantly
surprised to find that their prospective tenants were from the "States";
but Hephzy and I managed to behave as unlike savages as we could, and
the Cole manner grew less and less reserved. Mr. Cole and his wife were
planning to spend a long vacation in Switzerland and his "living," or
parish, was to be left in charge of his two curates. There was a son at
Oxford who was to join them on their vacation.

Mr. Cole and I walked about the grounds and visited the church, the
yard of which, with its weather-beaten gravestones and fine old trees,
adjoined the rectory on the western side, behind the tall hedge.

The church was built of stone, of course, and a portion of it was
older than the Norman conquest. Before the altar steps were two ancient
effigies of knights in armor, with crossed gauntlets and their feet
supported by crouching lions. These old fellows were scratched and
scarred and initialed. Upon one noble nose were the letters "A. H. N.
1694." I decided that vandalism was not a modern innovation.

While the rector and I were inspecting the church, Mrs. Cole and Hephzy
were making a tour of the house. They met us at the door. Mrs. Cole's
eyes were twinkling; I judged that she had found Hephzy amusing. If this
was tru