When James went home he found that the Vicar of Little Primpton and his
wife had already arrived. They were both of them little, dried-up
persons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellent
in a rather unpleasant way; they resembled one another like peas, but
none knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twenty
years, or had been the original attraction. Deeply impressed with their
sacred calling--for Mrs. Jackson would never have acknowledged that the
Vicar's wife held a position inferior to the Vicar's--they argued that
the whole world was God's, and they God's particular ministrants; so
that it was their plain duty to concern themselves with the business of
their fellows--and it must be confessed that they never shrank from this
duty. They were neither well-educated, nor experienced, nor tactful; but
blissfully ignorant of these defects, they shepherded their flock with
little moral barks, and gave them, rather self-consciously, a good
example in the difficult way to eternal life. They were eminently
worthy people, who thought light-heartedness somewhat indecent. They did
endless good in the most disagreeable manner possible; and in their
fervour not only bore unnecessary crosses themselves, but saddled them
on to everyone else, as the only certain passport to the Golden City.
The Reverend Archibald Jackson had been appointed to the living of
Little Primpton while James was in India, and consequently had never
seen him.
"I was telling your father," said Mrs. Jackson, on shaking hands, "that
I hoped you were properly grateful for all the mercies that have been
bestowed upon you."