"They say that some of our churches lead to Rome, Errington, but these
youngsters have been early in discovering it. I should like to go up to
Rome, I think. Will you lead the way?"
So Mr. Errington obeyed, and the ladies rustled after them, taking Bumps
with them. When they came out on top, two geese were being held down
forcibly by a very hot and dirty little boy and girl.
"Stop your cackling, you brutes!" Jack was screaming. "I want you to
stop till I come up! They're no good, Jill, if they go on like this,
and they'll be flying over the tower next. What shall we do? Let us tie
their legs!"
"Jack!"
Mr. Errington's tone was so sternly indignant that the boy started and
let go of his goose, which flew frantically between the bishop's legs,
knocked Bumps down, and finally took a header down the the belfry stairs.
"What do you mean by this? How dare you use this church for such
a purpose? Isn't your garden large enough for your games?"
"We haven't got a tower," mumbled Jack.
Jill broke in eagerly. "Please Mr. Errington don't be angry. We haven't
been into the church. We wouldn't think of playing games in there. We
didn't think you'd mind up here, and it is a history game."
"It seems to me," said the bishop, looking at Mr. Errington with a twinkle
in his eye, "that you have some scamps amongst your parishioners as
well as examples. I have been hearing"--here the bishop turned to Jack
and Jill--"of some good little children that I think you would do well
to imitate. You might expend some of your superfluous zeal on following
their example. These children are steadily putting by a tenth of all
their money, and persuading many of their friends to do the same, with
the object of building a mission-room in a neglected neighbourhood!"
Jack and Jill looked at the bishop with open eyes and mouth.
"But that's _us_!" gasped Jill.
There was a moment's silence. Then the bishop's sense of humour
overcame him and he laughed loud, the ladies joining him, only Mr.
Errington preserving his gravity.
As he descended the stairs again, he said to the vicar, "One lives and
learns, Errington. I had forgotten the complex natures of children."