of Mr. Thumble's visit to Hogglestock,—and Mr. Robarts had gone over to Silverbridge, in answer to Dr. Tempest's invitation, on the Thursday. He had not, therefore, the command of much time, it being his express object to prevent the appearance of Mr. Thumble at Hogglestock on the next Sunday. He had gone to Silverbridge by railway, and had, therefore, been obliged to postpone his visit to Mr. Crawley till the next day; but early on the Friday morning he rode over to Hogglestock. That he did not arrive there with a broken-knee'd horse, the reader may be quite sure. In all matters of that sort, Mr. Robarts was ever above reproach. He rode a good horse, and drove a neat gig, and was always well dressed. On this account Mr. Crawley, though he really liked Mr. Robarts, and was thankful to him for many kindnesses, could never bear his presence with perfect equanimity. Robarts was no scholar, was not a great preacher, had obtained no celebrity as a churchman,—had, in fact, done nothing to merit great reward; and yet everything had been given to him with an abundant hand. Within the last twelvemonth his wife had inherited Mr. Crawley did not care to know how many thousand pounds. And yet Mr. Robarts had won all that he possessed by being a clergyman. Was it possible that Mr. Crawley should regard such a man with equanimity? Robarts rode over with a groom behind him,—really taking the groom because he knew that Mr. Crawley would have no one to hold his horse for him;—and the groom was the source of great offence. He came upon Mr. Crawley standing at the school door, and stopping at once, jumped off his nag. There was something in the way in which he sprang out of the saddle and threw the reins to the man, which was not clerical in Mr. Crawley's eyes. No man could be so quick in the matter of a horse who spent as many hours with the poor and with the children as should be spent by a parish clergyman. It might be probable that Mr. Robarts had never stolen twenty pounds,—might never be accused of so disgraceful a crime,—but, nevertheless, Mr. Crawley had his own ideas, and made his own comparisons.
"Crawley," said Robarts, "I am so glad to find you at home."
"I am generally to be found in the parish," said the perpetual curate of Hogglestock.
"I know you are," said Robarts, who knew the man well, and cared nothing for his friend's peculiarities when he felt his own withers to be unwrung. "But you might have been down at Hoggle End with the brickmakers, and then I should have had to go after you."
"I should have grieved," began Crawley; but Robarts interrupted him at once.
