THE PARSON'S STORY.

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 307, 27 December 1924, Page 24

THE PARSON'S STORY.

(By REV. C. De B. DUBAXD.)

Few lives tend to be more devoid of ex^ementt. Tli thaW : t Xi Cou,Ury i Parconfirmations and hohdaj jaun••• - ing as they may be to mc, are harulv likely to move readers. and told mc mat a circus hud con>niahi before to a village i::iiv a mile ""s'm-ii mi event in a country parish is as delightful a, it 1* rare, and." to my intn.l, nWde, ,i perfectly justifiable excuse 'JTα 1 «!:.,.>• for t:.e' sc.ool-chihlnM. So ,'ke'l her' t , go H.TOM to the school a , ,„„,. with the glad new., while I put thin"* !.iraiirht in the elriri-h niVMMt. lt"i-'on occasions such as these that one valu.-s the help that is sn un,'rudcin W given by one's lady workers! For ouiu-" a quarter of an hour 1 was nceup.ed with r-iMina and packing a>vay vestments, p.utin- the altar straight, and as we say in Warwickshire, "duuting tinlamps." At last, however, everything was done, and I prepared to leave. \nd here, in order to explain what follows, I must brlo.ly describe the church It consists simply of a nave and a chancel, with a porch at the west end. In the north side of the chancel is a tiny recess meant for a vestry, from which a flight of steps leads into the pulpit. It is an unusual arrangement—a relic of the days when the preacher changed into a black gown before the sermon—and [the only way to get into the pulpit is to go into -the chancel, and through this little vestry. As this little cubby-hole (I can give it no more dignified name) is too small to be of any use, 1 have made the porch into a sacristy and left the west door (under the tower) as the sole entrance to the church. Having finished all that I had to do, T locked the sacristy door, and had just opened the we*t door on my way out, when I suddenly remembered a book j that I had left in the pulpit the previous i Sunday, and which 1 wanted to consult. | I went to fetch it. and was just turning to go when I heard a rustling movement at the bottom of the church. Thinking , that it was my sacristan come back. 1 i I called out: ''Is that you. Miss Gore?' , j To my amazement. I was answered by j i a noisp quite impossible to describe —a : sort of thunderous boom! What on earth j could it be? I peered over the pulpit, and there, stalking up the aisle, was a j large, yellow, and extremely fierce-look-ing lion! About three-quarters of the way up the nave he sat down, waving his tail gently from side to side, and looked about him. There we were—the lion, calmly seated between two rows of pews; and myself, pazing horror-stricken from the pulpit at a congregation such as I never had before, and devoutly hope never to have again! It may seem ludricious to you, but I 1 assure you it was not so to mc. " 'The lions,' I thought to myself, '"do Jack and suffer hunger,' and that wretched beast is far more likely to get his breakfast than I am." I I thought of Daniel, who spent a night in n den of lions, and yet came out cheerfully the next morning. But the reflection I brought mc no comfort for the circum- . stances were not on all fours—though the lion was, by this time; and he was ; glaring at mc in an extremely unpleasant way. For some time we continued to look at one another. I had heard, like everyone else, of the power of the human eye. and did my best to stare him out of countenance. Hut it wasn't a , bit of good; either the lion didn't know J anything about it or else it doesn't i work through spectacles. Things could not go on like this; I must do something desperate. So. after repeating several times to myself, in the best Cove fashion: "I'm not afraid of lions, they are only cats." I clapped my bands together, cried "Shoo!" in a very shaky voice (which I barely recognised as ni'v ! owl, and threw a copy of "Hymns, j Ancient and Modern" ji the direction of the intruder. This only made matters worse. The lion advanced, snuffling, into the chancel. Why hadn't I let well alone? Xow. not only could I not see him, but I knew at any moment he might find the cubby-hole and the entrance to the pulpit and then ? There was only one thing to be done. I climbed over the edge of the pulpit, let myself down as gently as I could! and tip-toed down the aisle for dear life. But in spite of everything, when I >it to the door I couldn't resist a I look back (my sympathies have always I been with Mrs. Lot), and there I had my last view of him. There he was, standing up in thlf pulpit, one giganticpaw on either side of the desk, with the expression of a bellicose archdeacon, looking exactly like an illustration out lof Griset's "Aesop." j I was through the door like a knife, shut it with a bang, Turned the key (which, fortunately, Wias in the lock") and rushed down the crfTircbyard path— to find two men, who shouted to mc to stop. They told mc that they came from the circus, that a lion had escaped, and would I keep the school-children indoors? "Not," they said, "that he's fierce for he's as gentle as a lamb, but they' might be frightened." ("Yes, it is quite possible that Uiey might " I thought to myself! I Itfljid not take mc long to explain where the lion was. the I men at once secured him and took him away, and my adventure ended. But now. mark this: No one saw that lion but the two men. who left with the circus next day. and myself. I told Miss Gore about it. She is still my sacristan, but I cannot help feeling I have lost her confidence. I published the account, as 1 have said, in the parish magazine, and my clerical brethren looked at mc coldly, hinting that in such a publication fiction is out of place. All I can say is that to have a hair-raising adventure, narrowly escape a martyr's death without getting a martyr's crown, and then to be disbelieved on top of it, is jolly hard luck'