The Wetheralls duly appeared, and proved very simple people.  Father Payne, to our surprise, seemed to be soaked in mission literature, and drew out Mr. Wetherall with patient skill.  But Miss Phyllis was a perfectly delightful girl, very simple and straightforward, extremely pretty in a boyish fashion, and quite used to the ways of the world.  We would willingly have entertained her, and did our best; but she made fast friends with Father Payne, with the utmost promptitude, and the two were for ever strolling about or sitting out together.  The talk at meals was of a sedate character, but Miss Phyllis used to intercept Father Payne’s humorous remarks with a delighted little smile, and Father Payne would shake his head gravely at her in return.  Miss Phyllis said to me one morning, as we were sitting in the garden:  “You seem to have a very good time here, all of you—­it feels like something in a book—­it is too good to be true!”

“Ah,” I said, “but this is a holiday, of course!  We work very hard in term-time, and we are very serious.”  Miss Phyllis looked at me with her blue eyes in silence for a moment, with an ironical little curve of her lips, and said:  “I don’t believe a word of it!  I believe it is just a little Paradise, and I suspect it of being rather a selfish Paradise.  Why do you shut everyone out?”

“Oh, it is a case of ’business first’!” I said.  “Father Payne keeps us all in very good order.”  “Yes,” said Phyllis, “I expect he can do that.  But do any of you men realise what an absolutely enchanting person he is?  I have never seen anyone in the least like him!  He understands everything, and sees everything, and cares for everything—­he is so big and kind and clever.  Why, isn’t he something tremendous?” “He is,” I said.  “Oh yes, but you know what I mean,” said Miss Phyllis; “he’s a great man, and he ought to have the reins in his hand.  He ought not to potter about here!”

“Well,” I said, “I have wondered about that myself.  But he knows his own mind—­he’s a very happy man!” Miss Phyllis pondered silently, and said:  “I don’t think you realise your blessings.  Father Payne is like the boy in the story—­the man born to be king, you know.  He ought not to be wasted like this!  He ought to be ruler over ten cities.  Dear me, I don’t often wish I were a man, but I would give anything to be one of you.  Won’t you tell me something more about him?”

I did my best, and Phyllis listened absorbed, dangling a shapely little foot over her knee, and playing with a flower.  “Yes,” she said at last, “that is what I thought!  I see you do appreciate him after all.  I won’t make that mistake again.”  And she gave me a fine smile.  I liked the company of this radiant creature, but at this moment Father Payne appeared at the other end of the garden.  “Don’t think me rude,” said Miss Phyllis, “but I am going to talk to Father Payne.  It’s my last day, and I must get all I can out of him.”  She fled, and presently they went off together for a stroll, a charming picture.  She carried him off likewise after dinner, and they sate long in the dusk.  I could hear Father Payne’s emphatic tones and Phyllis’s refreshing laughter.