THE PARSONS' RACE.

Evening Star, Issue 6711, 1 October 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE PARSONS' RACE.

It was on the day of the-GrammarSchool iport* which were held tytog**™" in the large field at the back of the rectory, where town wall, runmng round two aides of the enclosure, afforded a not wish to enter the grou Q{ fave o'clock and tl ej pon Sed to his study, and was Sing of going upsta.rs to tea, when of the shouting in the rear of the Jouso attracted his attention. Wondering what this might be he mounted to the drawing-room, and finding only Granny there, 'fenced in as usual with her screen, walked to the further window which overlooked the field. The sports, to all appearance, had been resumed, late as it was, for though the ground was almost clear, a crowd was fast collecting upon the wall, and ne could make out figures-it was just growing dusk-moving quickly round the ropes, which bad not been taken away. One, two, three, four, five black figures moving swittly in sinide file. ~ , -.. - i '' lam afraid this won't do. I don't think that this can be allowed," he was beginning, shaking his head slowly, under the impression thlt the town boys had taken advantage of the place and occasion to get up a little impromptu competition of their own, i don't think—Good heavcM! Granny awoke upon the instaut, the Arciideacon's voice rang out so loud in anger and reprobation. "What is it!" the old lady said, weakly, feeling for her stick. W hat is it, my dear? I hope it is not much. \ou know it is very near quarter day, George, very near, and some money will be paid in then. Dear me, dear me! " Even in his wrathful astonishment the Archdeacon tried to cay gently: "It is not that, Granny. It is nothing of any consequence. I shall be back in a moment. And then he ran downstairs. Nothing of any consequence," indeed ; three steps at a time, and so, bareheaded and his skirts flying behind him, reached the terrace, taking no notice of a couple of maids m the hall, who were looking through a window and giggling, and who fled at his approach. | On the terrace, with a charming hood over her head, was Dorothy, looking down into the field, and now laughing and now claping a pair of little gloved hands in great delight, a white rose on the wall before her. He scarce looked at her, but peered into the dusk. Yes, his eves had not played him false. The five athletes speeding round the i roned circle were his five curates, and none ) others, , ~. ~ i "Isn't it inn," cried Dorothy at his side, all unconscious of his feelings. "The boys were nothing to them ; they looked so funny in their lonq coats. They are walking a mile, and the winner is to have this rose. Don't you think Mr Bigham is gaining ? The Archdeacon was speechless, lie glared at this mocker, and then at the crowd upon the wall opposite - the cheering shouting, growing crowd - and bieathea hard. Funny! Fun! Had the girl lost all sense of decorum? He would waste no words upon her ; but he ran down the steps and strode across the grass as swiftly as his dignity, a little impaired by haste and passion, would permit. Fortunately the competitors were* just then at the near side of the circle. But, for that very reason, by the time he approached the ropes, the walkers, who had only eyes for one another and that slender figure on the terrace, had passed the point nearest to him, and were speedily away quite unconscious of their superior's presence. He thought he should cut off the last man, and increased his pace. He called to him and waved his hand. But Mr Brune, intent upon the business before him, and going steadily like a machine heel and toe, hi 3 elbows well in and his oyes upon the small of his predecessor's back, neither saw nor heard him. The Archdeacon was excited and provoked. In the heat of the moment he followed, still calling to him ; and, being quite fresh, began to overhaul Mr Brune. He did not hear a louder shout rise from the crowd upon the wall; he did not hear his ward clapping her hands in a perfect ecstacy of delight; he did not—indeed he could not —hear the gigging of the maids at the hall window. But all these people, and everybody else, thought that he had joined in the "parsons' race." Some, like Dorothy, thought it was very nice " and liberal" of him ; ,'-nd more, like Mrs Fretchett, who had a fire view from her window, thought it very odd of him. And the faster he pressed oa to catch Brune, becoming with every stride mora and more angry, the more the crowd upon the wall shouted, and Dolly clapped, and Brune increased his speed, and the maids giggled, until at length the Archdeacon, beginning to suspect that his own position was far from dignified, and a glimmer of the light in which he was being viewed by others drawing upon him, broke into a run, and the crowd into a shout of reprobation of his unfairness, and then at last he laid his hands upon Mr Brune's shoulder.

"Stop, Mr Brune," he gasped; "stop! This is most unseemly. Do you hear? Most unseemly ! I exceedingly disapprove of this —this disgraceful exhibition. Do you see the people, sir ?" This at last brought Mr Brune to a standStill. He was a pitiable object, as hot, dishevelled, and panting, his tie awry and hfs collar rumpled, he stared, dumbfounded, into his superior's flushed and indignant face. He tremulously wiped his brow, and by a tremendous effort recovered his eyeglasses from between his shoulders, where they had been swinging rythmically. He put them on and looked round. Then he became aware of the spectators who had gathered since he and his fellows had, in quite a private way, started on their little frolic, and the affair became apparent to him in its true colors. For, left to themselves, and unperverted by Dolly and unreasoning rivalry, there were no curates anywhere of more proper ideas than the Archdeacon's. Brune dropped his glasses, quite crushed; but, seeing the necessity for action, revived. He did what the Archdeacon should have done at first. He jumped over the ropes and ran across to stay the others. Tiieir rector did not wait to speak with them then, but, still frowning, stalked back to the terrace, striving to recover his selfpossession upon his way. AVith but partial success, for as he mounted the steps "Oh, guardian!" cried a merry laughing voice from above him, "what is the matter? Why did you stop ? lam sure you would have beaten them all if you had gono on as well as you started. You walked capitally. And why have they all stopped ?" " Because they have come to their senses," ha said hoarsely, striving vainly to repress bis passion. "Have you ever heard of Circe, girl ?'' Dolly only stared. This tone at any rate she liad never heard before.

"Bccr.use my parish is not large enough to contain her foolish rout and their senseless tricks. They were walking for a rose, were they ?" he continued bitterly. What he had said already seemed to have hurt the girl not one whit, ouly surprised her; and he was terribly exasperated. "I suppose that is but a pretty figure of speech, and stands for yourself. I am surprised you have so much modcaty. It is fitting and maidenly in my ward to offer herself as the prize of a public walking match." Her face turned white in the dusk. "How dare you ?" she cried, starting back as if he had struck her. He had hurt her at laßfc, if that was what he wished to do. "How dare you ?" she cried passionately. By this time there came a quiver in her voice and a catching of her breath, and before he could be ready for this change of front she was gone, and he heard her sobbing bitterly aa she passed through the hall. Only the white rose lay where she had flung it.—"Archdeacon Holden's Tribulation," in the 'Cornhill Magazine.'