’Everything is inconvenient; but you’d better go.  And look here, Snapper, if I were you, I wouldn’t say anything out at Hogglestock about the cheque.  We don’t know what it may come to yet.’  Mr Snapper, with a heavy heart, left his patron, not at all liking the task that was before him.  But his wife encouraged him to be obedient.  He was the owner of a one-horse carriage, and the work was not, therefore, so hard to him as it would have been and had been to poor Mr Thumble.  And, moreover, his wife promised to go with him.  Mr Snapper and Mrs Snapper did go over to Hogglestock, and the duty was done.  Mrs Snapper spoke a word or two to Mrs Crawley, and Mr Snapper spoke a word or two to Mr Crawley; but not a word was said about the news as to Mr Soames’s cheque, which was now almost current in Barchester.  Indeed, no whisper about it had as yet reached Hogglestock.

‘One word with you, reverend sir,’ said Mr Crawley to the chaplain, as the latter was coming out of the church, ’as to the parish work, sir, during the week—­I should be glad if you would favour me with your opinion.’

‘About what Mr Crawley?’

’Whether you think that I may be allowed, without scandal, to visit the sick—­and to give instruction in the school.’

‘Surely—­surely, Mr Crawley.  Why not?’

’Mr Thumble gave me to understand that the bishop was very urgent that I should interfere in no way in the ministrations of the parish.  Twice he did enjoin on me that I should not interfere—­unnecessarily, as it seemed to me.’

‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Mr Snapper.  ’And the bishop will be obliged to you, Mr Crawley, if you’ll just see that things go on all straight.’

’I wish it were possible to know with accuracy what his idea of straightness is,’ said Mr Crawley to his wife.  ’It may be that things are straight to him when they are buried as it were out of sight, and put away without trouble.  I hope it be not so with the bishop.’  When he went into his school and remembered—­as he did remember through every minute of his teaching—­that he was to receive no portion of the poor stipend which was allotted for the clerical duties of the parish, he told himself that there was gross injustice in the way in which things were being made straight at Hogglestock.

But we must go back to the major and the archdeacon at Plumstead—­in which comfortable parish things were generally made straight more easily than at Hogglestock.  Henry Grantly went over from Barchester to Plumstead in a gig from the ‘The Dragon’, and made his way at once into his father’s study.  The archdeacon was seated there with sundry manuscripts before him, and with one half-finished manuscript—­as was his wont on every Saturday morning.  ‘Hallo, Harry,’ he said.  ’I didn’t expect you in the least.’  It was barely an hour since he had told Mrs Grantly that his complaint against his son was that he wouldn’t come and make himself comfortable at the rectory.