"Yes, I suppose you can all know it now. You can't be as sorry as I
am. I was just getting to like him so."
Miss Webb gave a little laugh.
"It wasn't so long ago that you used to vote him a bore, my dear. There
are plenty of clergy. We must hope for one as good."
"But," cried Jill, "he can't go away. Who is to take our bag every
Saturday? And the room is for him to preach in. Oh, how dreadful of him
to go!"
"Lady Crane has the gift of the living, has she not?" said Miss Webb,
addressing Mona.
"Yes, I believe so," said Mona listlessly.
"Perhaps she may give it to Cecil Arnold. He is her nephew!"
A rich colour came into Mona's cheeks.
"Oh, no," she said confusedly. "Why should she? Besides, he would never
leave his work in the north."
Miss Webb nodded her head knowingly.
"Wait and see, my dear; wait and see!"
It was a great blow to the children, and as soon as lessons were over
the next morning Jack and Jill ran off to the Vicarage as hard as they
could go.
Mrs. Errington received them; her husband was out.
"We don't know what to do," Jill said breathlessly. "If Mr. Errington
goes away, we can't get on at all. Do beg him not to. Why does he go?"
"My dear child, we are both very loth to leave, but circumstances are
against us. I have been told by the doctors that I shall never be better
here. If we take this other living offered to us, I may be able to help
Mr. Errington instead of being a constant source of anxiety to him."
"It's the bag," Jill said; "it's the bag I am thinking of. I can't bring
it to a strange clergyman. I hate strangers! It's too bad of you!"
Jill actually began to cry.
"You see," explained Jack, "some people laugh at us. Now Mr. Errington
never did. He understood from the very beginning. Mona used to laugh,
but she doesn't now. Miss Webb always does. She told Jill she was a
Mrs. Judas, for she kept the bag. Mona scolded her. And Sir Henry Talbot
always teases us. He asks if we have taken up any more trespassers. They
think themselves very funny, but we don't think them funny, we hate
them when they talk so."
"I am sure no clergyman would laugh at you," said Mrs. Errington
gently. "We will tell our successor all about you, and he will be only
too glad to help you in every way he can."
"But what will you tell him about us?" asked Jill, drying her eyes. "You
won't tell him of our scrapes, will you? Say that we always mean to be
good, it's just accidents happening when we aren't. And tell him he has
just to take the money and use it for God, and ask no questions. Because,
when the room is built our money will still be going on. We shall never
stop, you know. We're not like Sam's father. He says his cabbages are
done, and he can't grow any more in the winter. But I know he has got
some turnips, and I'm going to talk to him about them. Oh, I do wish
you weren't going away!"
It was the general wish in the village, and there was great concern
amongst all Mr. Errington's parishioners. His church was never so full
as during the two months before his departure, and as Bumps pathetically
remarked--
"There'll be no one like him in church ever again. There never are twos
of anybody, except twins, and Mr. Errington isn't a twin."