CHAPTER VIII.
THE VICAR TRIES PUFFIN.
It must not be supposed that all the religious activity in King's Warrenwas confined to the Dissenters. The Reverend John Dodd was a fineold-crusted Tory; the world had gone very well with him. He had hiscross, of course, in the shape of his wife Cecilia, and the Reverend B.Smiter was a very thorn in his flesh; but his living was a good living,and his peaches and his port wine were unsurpassed in the county. Hisarchdeacon was an old personal friend of his own, and I am afraid thatthe post-prandial conversations of the two when the archdeacon made hisyearly visitations and Mrs. Dodd had left them to themselves, turnedmore upon vintages and things of this world than on church matters. Buta young and active bishop, of High Church tendencies, now reigned inthe neighbouring cathedral, and the archdeacon in a friendly mannersuggested to Dodd that it behoved him to set his house in order.
"We must move with the times, Dodd," he said. "The bishop is a man ofsix-and-thirty and an enthusiast. I am sorry to say he is no respecterof persons. There is no doubt, my friend, that dissent has spread inthis parish of late years with frightful rapidity." He spoke of it as ifit were a disease. "What you want is an energetic coadjutor, and youcan't do better than try Puffin. Puffin has been a Missioner, and he isa wonderful organizer. If you want to be in the bishop's good books youshould try Puffin. He'll take every sort of trouble off your hands; allyou have to do is to give him plenty of rope. He has his peculiarities,but he is honest in his way, and he did wonders at the East End, wherehe nearly killed himself by overwork. You won't keep him long, youknow, for Puffin's a man certain of good preferment. He'll fill yourchurch, and if anything will stop the insidious progress of dissent inthe place, it's Puffin."
"But, my dear fellow, we are very comfortable as we are. I hate aclerical firebrand. Why can't we rub along comfortably for the rest ofmy time?"
"The days of rubbing along, Dodd, are gone by. As the bishop puts it,the Church in these latter days must be a Church militant, or it willcease to exist."
"But it needn't become a Church pugnacious for all that," said Dodd.
"My dear fellow, if we were certain that I should be archdeacon for everyou might, as you put it, go on rubbing along. But the king who knew notJoseph has arrived. Our spiritual head is a man who will stand nononsense. If you don't follow his lead, he will look upon you asrefractory. Don't be refractory, Dodd; try Puffin. You will find him aperfect panacea."
"But I don't believe in panaceas," said Dodd; "the fellow will set thewhole place by the ears before he has been here a month. Why, in thisvillage the aggrieved parishioner does not even exist. If a man doesn'tlike the church he takes sittings in the chapel, and there is an end ofthe thing."
"My dear fellow, you mistake the matter altogether. Now-a-days, a real,good, wrong-headed aggrieved parishioner is exactly what you do want. Hekeeps you before the public, and brings you to the favourable notice ofyour spiritual head."
"But look at the fuss, the letters, and the lawsuits."
"With a new bishop, Dodd, and a man like Puffin at your back, thoughthere would be lots of fuss, it need not trouble you. Puffin would writeall the letters; and as for the lawsuits, you would win them, and thecosts would not come out of your pocket. Puffin, of course, sails ratherclose to the wind, if I may be allowed the expression, but he knowsexactly how far he can go. In fact, Dodd, though he puts his candlesupon the altar he never lights them, except at evensong, and then heknows he can do so with impunity."
And then they gradually began to talk about the wine.
The result of this conversation was that the Reverend John Dodd hastenedto secure the services of that energetic priest the Reverend BarnesPuffin.
Mr. Puffin arrived at the Vicarage looking very much like an ordinaryclergyman, save that the round black felt that he wore had a brim ofportentous width; and Mrs. Dodd noticed with some astonishment that thewhite tie, which all clergymen of her acquaintance habitually wore, wasconspicuous by its absence, and that the new curate appeared to have puton his collar wrong side before. At first it was a mystery to her howhe could have got into that collar. There was certainly no visible meansof entrance in front. Puffin wore his hair very long indeed, while thewhole of his face was clean shaven. Mrs. Dodd, too, gave a start when heproceeded to address her as "his dear sister;" but she was still moreastonished when he removed his long clerical great-coat and she saw thatthe Reverend Barnes Puffin was clad in a long black garment withinnumerable little buttons running from his neck to within two inches ofthe ground. Around his waist was a long black sash with a silken fringe.As he gave the vicar's wife his arm, when they went in to dinner, hesuddenly produced from his pocket a little square cap, which he placedupon his head. He did full justice to the stewed eels, with which themeal commenced; but he never removed the little cap during the whole ofthe entertainment, nor could the vicar and his wife persuade him topartake of any of the numerous dainties which composed the rest of thefeast. At first he said he wasn't hungry. A curate who refused _entrees_was a novelty to Mrs. Dodd.
"I fear you are not well, Mr. Puffin," she said as he declined woodcockon toast.
"Dear Mrs. Dodd, I remember that it is the Eve of St. Radegonde, Virginand Martyr."
The vicar and his wife looked at one another; but they respected Mr.Puffin's prejudices, and ceased to press him.
The next day the reign of the Reverend Barnes Puffin commenced. The oldchurch, where service had been held as seldom as possible from timeimmemorial, was now thrown open daily for matins and evensong. At firstthere was no congregation; but the Reverend Barnes Puffin looked up allthe old pensioners, particularly the old women who were in receipt ofparish relief at home, and in his persuasive but forcible way he madeall these poor old people understand that their comforts, for whichthey had hitherto given nothing in return, would depend upon goodbehaviour, that is to say, going to church. Nor did Mr. Puffin confinehis ministrations to the lower orders. How he managed it I don't know;but before he had been three months in the place most of the youngerladies in the parish flocked to the services. I suppose he made love tothem in a quiet, clerical sort of way. The Misses Sleek, looking asplump and pretty as ever, but dressed with a prim demureness whichconsiderably astonished their father, were among his first converts; andthey used to hurry to church on foot twice a day with praiseworthyregularity. They considered themselves well rewarded if the curatewalked home with them occasionally to dinner, and so beatified The Parkby his presence. But Mr. Puffin egregiously failed with Miss Grains.She, too, had felt inclined at first to place her conscience in Mr.Puffin's hands; but young Mr. Wurzel, an easy-going fellow enough atmost times, objected to Puffin's addressing his affianced bride, savefrom the pulpit, as "his dear sister." He had even told Miss Grains thathe looked upon Mr. Puffin as a "philanderer," and that "he didn't holdwith philanderers." So Miss Grains made no alteration in her costume,and she turned a deaf ear to Mr. Puffin's ecclesiastical authority.
It was not long before King's Warren Church rejoiced in a surplicedchoir. There was rather a martial clang of hob-nailed boots during thenumerous processions of the choir on Sundays; but the service wasundoubtedly much more imposing than in the old days. Mr. Puffin didwonders with the small material at his command. He would have made anadmirable stage-manager. He never missed a possible effect, and heconsiderably astonished the King's Warreners when he preached his firstfuneral sermon. He was a good preacher, and always held the attention ofthe congregation. But perhaps some few of them smiled when he led up tothe fact that the silver cord was loosed and the golden bowl broken, inan ornate and sensational harangue reaching an unexpected climax bytilting over the tumbler at his side, which fell with a crash and wasshivered in a thousand pieces on the floor. There were no sleepers inKing's Warren Church when the Reverend Barnes Puffin graced the pulpitafter that. And yet Puffin was a sincere man, and worked energeticallyaccording to his lights.
But it was an evil day for the Reverend Barnes Puffin when he felt it tobe
his duty to attempt the conversion of Lucy Warrender. She was the oneblack sheep of the fold, for she had committed the unpardonable sin--shehad laughed at Mr. Puffin. A girl may differ with a modern parson, shemay argue with him; nay, she may refuse to argue with him at all, butshe must not laugh at him, and Lucy had done this. Had she notirreverently compared him to Samson, and wickedly declared that shewould like to be a Delilah to shear with her own hands his too redundantlocks? Had she not told him that it was rude to wear the little squarehat, which he persisted in calling a _baretta_, in the presence ofladies? Had she not openly asserted her belief that he wore a hair shirtand scourged himself in private? These are only a few of the many crimesof which Miss Warrender had been guilty. It was evidently the duty ofthe Reverend Barnes Puffin to convert Miss Warrender without loss oftime.
Puffin was always well received at The Warren; he amused the squire bythe seriousness of his arguments about trifling things. For every thingthat he did, for every little bob, bow or gesture, the Reverend BarnesPuffin had a very good reason. Nothing that he did was trifling; it wasalways symbolical of something. According to him, for every movement ofhis body there was a ritual reason why. It became a sort of custom atThe Warren that as soon as dessert was upon the table, the ReverendBarnes Puffin was allowed to mount his hobby-horse and wildly career. Heliked to give what he called a little information on sacred things, andhe made the most of his opportunities, for he never had a long innings,as he always retired with the ladies.
One evening the Reverend Barnes Puffin was seated in the drawing-room atThe Warren conversing with the cousins. Fanchette, in all the pride ofher Norman costume, was bringing the little Lucius to bid his mothergood-night. Now Fanchette, from his cassock, his sash, his _baretta_,and the collar which had so puzzled poor Mrs. Dodd, had always lookedupon the Reverend Barnes Puffin as a veritable Catholic priest, andrespected him accordingly. She made him a succession of low courtesies,and placing the little Lucius in his mother's arms, she advanced towardsthe curate in a respectful manner. To his intense astonishment shesuddenly dropped on her knees at his side, seized his hand, and coveredit with kisses. Then, in fluent patois, she demanded his blessing. Butthe curate, unfortunately, did not understand a word she said. Like mostcurates, he was accustomed to the blandishments which are invariablylavished by the female sex on these most fortunate of men. Interestingpenitents had made eyes at him, had squeezed his hand at parting withunnecessary pressure, had loaded him with slippers, vestments, and socksand comforters knitted by their own fair fingers. They had even obtainedinterviews, and had wickedly taken the opportunity of the _tete-a-tete_to make violent love to him; but never, in the whole course of hisclerical experience, had any of his "dear sisters" suddenly dropped ontheir knees at his side and violently kissed his hand. Puffin was by nomeans a vain man. But what could he think? Here was a foreign woman, ofprepossessing appearance, administering sounding osculations to hisunwilling fingers.
"Ladies, dear ladies," he said, as he rose to his feet, the _bonne_still clinging to his hand and kissing it furiously, "this is mostirregular." Here he strove with gentle dignity to try to withdraw hishand, but all to no purpose. "Ladies," he said, blushing violently, andspeaking of Fanchette as if she had been an infuriated bull-terrier,"call her off. Please call her off."
But the cousins were far too amused at the incident to come to hisassistance. Georgie could not forbear a smile, while Lucy burst intoinextinguishable peals of silvery laughter.
"She wants your blessing, Mr. Puffin, that's all," said Lucy at length.
"Then she should come to church, Miss Warrender," exclaimed Mr. Puffin,to whose hand the _bonne_ clung, alternately kissing it and gazing up athim with imploring eyes.
"She thinks you are a Catholic priest," exclaimed Lucy.
"This is too horrible," cried the Reverend Barnes Puffin, as he vainlystruggled to release the imprisoned hand.
"Ah, _mon pere_," vociferated the _bonne_.
"Goodness me, she says I'm her father; pray explain, dear ladies. Is hermind affected?"
And then Miss Warrender did explain to her.
On hearing that the unhappy curate was not a priest of her own Church,but only, as Lucy had expressed it, a heretical Protestant pastor,Fanchette's demeanour changed altogether.
"_Ah, gredin, farceur, monsieur est en travesti. Saperlotte_," sheadded, and here she snapped her fingers in the astonished curate's face,and abruptly left the room.
The curate sank into a chair and wiped his brow with hispocket-handkerchief.
"Goodness me, ladies," he said, "what a terrible person! I assure you Ididn't mean to exasperate her."
From that day Fanchette ceased her respectful obeisances to the curate,but his visits to The Warren, where he was always a welcome guest,became gradually more frequent.
It is human nature after all ever to strive after the impossible, andMr. Puffin recognizing in Miss Warrender a young lady who wasessentially of the world worldly, naturally determined to attempt herconversion. But the spirit of contrariety is ever strongly developed inthe female breast. As the parson became more pertinacious, MissWarrender, who was at first rather bored than otherwise by hiseloquence, resolved upon reprisals.
"I'll bet you a new bonnet," she had said to Haggard, "that I make theCelibate propose to me."
"Not he, my dear," said Georgie's husband with a laugh. "Puffin's notaltogether a fool after all; he's got the run of his teeth in thishouse, and he won't care to lose it by making an ass of himself."
"My dear Miss Warrender, my husband's curate considers himself as vowedto heaven," said Mrs. Dodd, who was present.
"They all do, Mrs. Dodd, till they find metal more attractive. I daresayeven Mr. Dodd considered himself at one time as vowed to heaven."
"There is no analogy, Miss Warrender, between my husband's case and thatof Mr. Puffin. When Mr. Dodd proposed to me, Miss Warrender, he did soas a beneficed clergyman; and he proposed to the daughter of a dignitaryof the Church. Had Mr. Dodd been a curate, he would not have so farforgotten his position as to have been guilty of so presumptuous anact."
"But I'm only Squire Warrender's niece, Mrs. Dodd; there would be nopresumption in my case."
"Don't buoy yourself up with false hopes, Lucy. Were Mr. Puffin to beguilty of such unseemly folly, it would be my duty, as his vicar's wife,to seriously remonstrate with him; and should he prove obdurate, even todispense with his services. The position of a clergyman's wife, LucyWarrender, is full of difficulty and responsibility," she addedsententiously.
"That's what makes me long for it so, Mrs. Dodd. I yearn to feel myselflifted out of the common ruck of women."
"You are unmaidenly, Lucy Warrender," said the vicar's wife, instantlyassuming her favourite tone of a Lord Chief Justice.
Miss Hood smiled, for she felt that the badinage was sober earnest toMrs. Dodd; but she made no remark, for Lucy was long ago out of leadingstrings.
When the vicar's wife reached her home, she sent for Mr. Puffin. Aftershe had shaken hands with him, she came to the point at once.
"I trust you are comfortable here, Mr. Puffin," she said, "and that youfind King's Warren a congenial sphere."
"I do indeed, dear madam," replied the curate. "We have alreadyaccomplished much, but there is yet an abundant field of work in theplace. I am very happy here."
"I have a dreadful communication to make to you, Mr. Puffin. A member ofthe congregation has confided to me the disgraceful fact of her personalinfatuation for my husband's curate."
"This is sad, Mrs. Dodd, this is very sad; but it is not whollyunexpected. Clergymen, as you are aware, dear madam, are constantlyexposed to these annoyances in the course of their ministrations. Youallude, I conclude, to the younger Miss Sleek. I have noticed latterlyher marked assiduity in attendance at church--the most unseasonableweather has failed to keep her away. I half feared that it would be so.Alas, girls are apt to forget the priest in the man. But this is a newkind of experience to me, Mrs. Dodd, for I have found that
they usuallyfirst confide their folly to the object of their aspirations."
"No, Mr. Puffin, it is not Miss Sleek to whom I allude; nothing wouldsurprise me with regard to her. There is no folly that young persons inher class of life might not be guilty of. It is not the younger MissSleek, though she is an ambitious girl, but the squire's near relativewho has confessed a wicked passion for my husband's curate."
"Gracious me," cried Mr. Puffin. "Can you possibly allude to young Mrs.Haggard?"
"Mr. Puffin, you forget yourself. No, it is Miss Warrender who hasconfided to me her infamous secret."
Mr. Puffin turned pale, then he blushed to the roots of his hair; hesighed deeply, and then he simpered. The vicar's wife drummedimpatiently upon the table.
"Oh, Mr. Puffin," she said, "you don't mean to say that you reciprocatethis? How often have you protested to me that you were a Celibate, apriest; and now you do nothing but sit and snigger. I'm grieved; I'mdisappointed in you, Mr. Puffin."
"Dear Mrs. Dodd," said the poor parson, "your communication has taken meby surprise. At first it horrified me. I am a priest, Mrs. Dodd," hesaid, "it is true; but, alas, I also remember that I am a man." Heburied his face in his hands.
Mrs. Dodd sat immovable, looking at the curate with an astonished gaze;and then she suddenly left the room and slammed the door violently.
The transformation was as thorough as it was sudden; the Reverend BarnesPuffin had entered that room the humble coadjutor of the vicar's wife;as he left it, he felt his soul soar into higher regions: as Orientalsput it, "his head was touching the skies." Mrs. Dodd looked out of herbreakfast room window to watch the departure of him who she mentallytermed "the fallen man."
But the fallen man considerably astonished her by the change in hisappearance. Mr. Puffin, who was accustomed to walk slowly and withdowncast eyes, as became a celibate priest, now strode down the drive;he didn't walk, he strode. He swung his walking-stick defiantly in theair, and to her astonishment Mrs. Dodd perceived that, ere he left theplace, he committed the brutal act of beheading one of her favouritepoppies with a sort of swashbuckler-stroke that would have done creditto a Life Guardsman.
Flutter on, happy clerical butterfly, your bliss will be of shortduration; for that careful entomologist, Miss Lucy Warrender, isalready preparing the sharp needle that shall transfix your littletriumphant heart.
Puffin, as he passed through the village, returned the many salutationshe received with joyous bows, and the wiseacres noticed that his broadbrimmed clerical hat was now worn with a triumphant cock.