y years ago, when he had set all
Durdlebury by the ears, he might have preached glorious heresy and
heroic schism; but now the immutability of the great grey fabric had
become part of his being.

"I've done my best, my boy," he replied, "with the result that I am
held in high disfavour."

"But that doesn't matter a little bit."

"Not a little bit," said the Dean. "A man can only do his duty
according to the dictates of his conscience. I have publicly deplored
the attitude of the Church of England. I have written to _The Times_.
I have published a pamphlet--I sent you each a copy--which has brought
a hornets' nest about my ears. I have warned those in high places that
what they are doing is not in the best interests of the Church. But
they won't listen."

Oliver lit a pipe. "I'm afraid, Uncle Edward," he said, "that though I
come of a clerical family, I know no more of religion than a Hun
bishop; but it has always struck me that the Church's job is to look
after the people, whereas, as far as I can make out, the Church is now
squealing because the people won't look after the Church."

The Dean rose. "I won't go as far as that," said he with a smile. "But
there is, I fear, some justification for such a criticism from the
laity. As soon as the war began the Church should have gathered the
people together and said, 'Onward, Christian soldiers. Go and fight
like--er----'"

"Like hell," suggested Oliver, greatly daring.

"Or words to that effect," smiled the old Dean. He looked at his
watch. "Dear, dear! past eleven. I wish I could sit up talking to you
boys. But I start my day's work at eight o'clock. If you want
anything, you've only got to ring. Good night. It is one of the
proudest days of my life to have you both here together."

His courtly charm seemed to linger in the room after he had left.

"He's a dear old chap," said Oliver.

"One of the best," said Doggie.

"It's rather pathetic," said Oliver. "In his heart he would like to
play the devil with the bishops and kick every able-bodied parson into
the trenches--and there are thousands of them that don't need any
kicking and, on the contrary, have been kicked back; but he has become
half-petrified in the atmosphere of this place. It's lovely to come to
as a sort of funk-hole of peace--but my holy aunt!--What the blazes
are you laughing at?"

"I'm only thinking of a beast of a boy here who used to say that,"
replied Doggie.

"Oh!" said Oliver, and he