allows anything to be changed in the house, never talks about anyone who isn’t dead or ill.  The woman’s life is simply buried under old memories, mountains of old china, family plate, receipts for jam and marmalade—­everything has got to be done as it was in the beginning.  Now most of her friends think that very beautiful and tender, and talk of the old-world atmosphere of the place; but I think it simply a stuffy waste of time.  I don’t tell her so—­God forbid!  But I feel that she is lolling in an arbour by the roadside instead of getting on.  It’s innocent enough, but it does not seem to me beautiful.”

“But I still don’t see why you give way to the feeling,” said Barthrop.  “I’m sure that if I felt as you do about Oxford, or any other place, you would tell me it was my duty to conquer it.”

“Very likely!” said Father Payne.  “But doctors don’t feel bound to take their own prescriptions!  Everyone must decide for himself, and I know that I should fall under the luxurious enchantment.  I should go into cheap raptures, I should talk about ’the tender grace of a day that is dead’—­it’s no use putting your head in a noose to see what being strangled feels like.”

“But do you apply that to everything,” I said, “old friendships, old affections, old memories?  They seem to me beautiful, and harmlessly beautiful.”

“Well, if you can use them up quite freshly, and make a poetical dish out of them, for present consumption, I don’t mind,” said Father Payne.  “But that isn’t my way—­I’m not robust enough.  It’s all I can do to take things in as they come along.  Of course an old memory sometimes goes through one like a sword, but I pull it out as quick as I can, and cast it away.  I am not going to dance with Death if I can help it!  I have got my job cut out for me, and I am not going to be hampered by old rubbish.  Mind you, I don’t say that it was rubbish at the time; but I have no use for anything that I can’t use.  Sentiment seems to me like letting valuable steam off.  The people I have loved are all there still, whether they are dead or alive.  They did a bit of the journey with me, and I enjoyed their company, and I shall enjoy it again, if it so comes about.  But we have to live our life, and we can’t keep more than a certain number of things in mind—­that is an obvious limitation.  Do you remember the old fairy story of the man who carried a magic goose, and everyone who touched it, or touched anyone who touched it, could not leave go, with the result that there was a long train of helpless people trotting about behind the man.  I don’t want to live like that, with a long train of old memories and traditions and friendships and furniture trailing helplessly behind me.  My business is with my present circle, my present work, and I can’t waste my strength in drawing about vehicles full of goods.  If anyone wants me, here I am, and I will do my best to meet his wishes; but I am not going to be frightened by