"Then you needn't read it to me."

"We must. Otherwise you won't know why we went to see the Archdeacon."

"Couldn't you give me in a few words a general idea of the contents of the letter?"

"You do that, Hilda," said Lalage.

"It was nothing," said Hilda, "but a list of the things a bishop ought to be."

"Qualifications for the office," said Lalage.

"And you went over to the Archdeacon to find out whether he came up to the standard. I'm beginning to understand."

"I thought at the time," said Hilda, "that it was rather cheek."

"It was," I said, "but it doesn't seem to me, so far, to amount to actual simony."

"It was a perfectly natural and straightforward thing to do," said Lalage. "How could we possibly support the Archdeacon in the election unless we'd satisfied ourselves that he had the proper qualifications?"

"Anyhow," I said, "whether the Archdeacon mistook it for cheek or not--and I can quite understand that he might--it wasn't simony."

"That's just what bothers us," said Lalage. "Do you think that dictionary of yours could possibly be wrong?"

"It might," I said. "Let's try another."

Hilda tried three others. The wording of their definitions varied, but they were all in substantial agreement with the first.

"There must," I said, "have been something in the questions which you put to the Archdeacon which suggested simony to his mind. What did you ask him?"

"I didn't ask him anything. I intended to but I hadn't time. He was on top of us with his old simony before I opened my mouth."

"You did say one thing," said Hilda.

"Then that must have been it," I said.

"It wasn't in the least simonious," said Lalage. "In fact it wasn't anything at all. It was merely a polite way of beginning the conversation."

"All the same," I said. "It was simony. It must have been, for there was nothing else. What was it?"

"It wasn't of any importance," said Lalage. "I simply said--just in the way you might say you hoped his cold was better without meaning anything in particular--that I supposed if he was elected bishop he'd make father archdeacon."

"Ah!" I said.

"He flew out at that straight away. Rather ridiculous of him, wasn't it?

He can't be both bishop and archdeacon, so he needn't try. He must give up the second job to some one or other. I'd have thought he'd have seen that at once."

I referred to the dictionary.

"'Or the corrupt presentation of any one to an eccelesiastical benefice for money or reward.' That's where he has you, Lalage. You were offering to present him----"

"I wasn't. How could I?"

"He thought you were, any how, And the reward in this case evidently was that your father should be made into an archdeacon."

"That's the greatest nonsense I ever heard. It wouldn't be a reward.

Father would simply hate it."

"The Archdeacon couldn't be expected to understand that. Having held the office for so long himself he naturally regards it as highly desirable."

"What about the penalties?" said Hilda nervously.

"By far the best thing you can do," I said, "is to grovel profusely.

If you both cast ashes on your heads and let the tears run down your cheeks----"

"If the Archdeacon is such a fool as you're trying to make out," said Lalage, "I shall simply write to him and say that nothing on earth would induce me to allow my father to parade the country dressed up in an ap.r.o.n and a pair of tight black gaiters."

"If you say things like that to him," I said, "he'll exact the penalties. See stat: 31 Elizabeth C. VII. You may not mind, but Hilda's mother will."

"Yes," said Hilda, "she'll be frightfully angry."

At this moment my mother came into the library.

"Thank goodness," said Lalage, "we have some one at last who can talk sense."

My mother looked questioningly at me. I offered her an explanation of the position in the smallest possible number of words.

"The Archdeacon," I said, "is going to put Lalage and Hilda into prison for simony."

"He can't," said Lalage, "for we didn't do it."

"They did," I said, "both of them. They offered to present the Archdeacon corruptly to an ecclesiastical benefice for a reward."

"It wasn't a reward."

"Lalage," said my mother, "have you been meddling with this bishopric election?"

"I simply tried," said Lalage, "to find out whether he was properly qualified."

"You did more than that," I said; "you tried to get a reward."

"If you take my advice----" said my mother.

"I will," said Lalage, "and so will Hilda."

That threatening statute of Queen Elizabeth's must have frightened Lalage. I never before knew her so meek.

"Then leave the question of the Archdeacon's qualifications," said my mother, "to those who have to elect him."