"I hope to God," said Peter, "it's not one of those infernal reporters."
"It's not," said Harriet, running to the window. "It's a vicar--he's coming to call."
"Oh, the dear vicar! perhaps he may know something."
"Ah!" said Mr. Puffett.
"This is magnificent," said Peter. "I collect vicars." He joined Harriet at her observation-post. "This is a very well-grown specimen, six foot four or thereabouts, short-sighted, a great gardener, musical, smokes a pipe----"
"Good gracious!" cried Miss Twitterton, "do you know Mr. Goodacre?"
"--untidy, with a wife who does her best on a small stipend; a product of one of our older seats of learning--1890 vintage--Oxford, at a guess, but not, I fancy, Keble, though as high in his views as the parish allows him to be."
"He'll hear you," said Harriet, a
