Chapter I
Of the Bishop’s Quandary, and of the Humourous Events that ensued.
The chance seemed fallen into my hands, and without my expectation. The place was very privy; the sun stood at four of the afternoon, and already the heaven was blackening overhead. A thin cold wind whistled through the empty trees, tossing the snow in spray, and the devil of a hard night was brewing. In the centre of the road, and bare to this desolation, the carriage stood forlorn, the shafts half buried in a drift, and the broken wheel full circle to the sky. And there lay the Bishop, reclining against his cushions, with his interrogating eyes upon me.
“You say truly,” said the Bishop suavely, “the Church is ill-served by the minor clergy in some gross particulars.”
He set the tips of his fingers together, and
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