And then they gradually began to talk about the wine.
The result of this conversation was that the Reverend John Dodd hastened to secure the services of that energetic priest the Reverend Barnes Puffin.
Mr. Puffin arrived at the Vicarage looking very much like an ordinary clergyman, save that the round black felt that he wore had a brim of portentous width; and Mrs. Dodd noticed with some astonishment that the white tie, which all clergymen of her acquaintance habitually wore, was conspicuous by its absence, and that the new curate appeared to have put on his collar wrong side before. At first it was a mystery to her how he could have got into that collar. There was certainly no visible means of entrance in front. Puffin wore his hair very long indeed, while the whole of his face was clean shaven. Mrs. Dodd, too, gave a start when he proceeded to address her as "his dear sister;" but she was still more astonished when he removed his long clerical great-coat and she saw that the Reverend Barnes Puffin was clad in a long black garment with innumerable little buttons running from his neck to within two inches of the ground. Around his waist was a long black sash with a silken fringe. As he gave the vicar's wife his arm, when they went in to dinner, he suddenly produced from his pocket a little square cap, which he placed upon his head. He did full justice to the stewed eels, with which the meal commenced; but he never removed the little cap during the whole of the entertainment, nor could the vicar and his wife persuade him to partake of any of the numerous dainties which composed the rest of the feast. At first he said he wasn't hungry. A curate who refused entrées was a novelty to Mrs. Dodd.
"I fear you are not well, Mr. Puffin," she said as he declined woodcock on toast.
"Dear Mrs. Dodd, I remember that it is the Eve of St. Radegonde, Virgin and Martyr."
The vicar and his wife looked at one another; but they respected Mr. Puffin's prejudices, and ceased to press him.
The next day the reign of the Reverend Barnes Puffin commenced. The old church, where service had been held as seldom as possible from time immemorial, was now thrown open daily for matins and evensong. At first there was no congregation; but the Reverend Barnes Puffin looked up all the old pensioners, particularly the old women who were in receipt of parish relief at home, and in his persuasive but forcible way he made all these poor old people understand that their comforts, for which they had hitherto given nothing in return, would depend upon good behaviour, that is to say, going to church. Nor did Mr. Puffin confine his ministrations to the lower orders. How he managed it I don't know; but before he had been three months in the place most of the younger ladies in the parish flocked to the services. I suppose he made love to them in a quiet, clerical sort of way. The Misses Sleek, looking as plump and pretty as ever, but dressed with a prim demureness which considerably astonished their father, were among his first converts; and they used to hurry to church on foot twice a day with praiseworthy regularity. They considered themselves well rewarded if the curate walked home with them occasionally to dinner, and so beatified The Park by his presence. But Mr. Puffin egregiously failed with Miss Grains. She, too, had felt inclined at first to place her conscience in Mr. Puffin's hands; but young Mr. Wurzel, an easy-going fellow enough at most times, objected to Puffin's addressing his affianced bride, save from the pulpit, as "his dear sister." He had even told Miss Grains that he looked upon Mr. Puffin as a "philanderer," and that "he didn't hold with philanderers." So Miss Grains made no alteration in her costume, and she turned a deaf ear to Mr. Puffin's ecclesiastical authority.
It was not long before King's Warren Church rejoiced in a surpliced choir. There was rather a martial clang of hob-nailed boots during the numerous processions of the choir on Sundays; but the service was undoubtedly much more imposing than in the old days. Mr. Puffin did wonders with the small material at his command. He would have made an admirable stage-manager. He never missed a possible effect, and he considerably astonished the King's Warreners when he preached his first funeral sermon. He was a good preacher, and always held the attention of the congregation. But perhaps some few of them smiled when he led up to the fact that the silver cord was loosed and the golden bowl broken, in an ornate and sensational harangue reaching an unexpected climax by tilting over the tumbler at his side, which fell with a crash and was shivered in a thousand pieces on the floor. There were no sleepers in King's Warren Church when the Reverend Barnes Puffin graced the pulpit after that. And yet Puffin was a sincere man, and worked energetically according to his lights.
But it was an evil day for the Reverend Barnes Puffin when he felt it to be his duty to attempt the conversion of Lucy Warrender. She was the one black sheep of the fold, for she had committed the unpardonable sin—she had laughed at Mr. Puffin. A girl may differ with a modern parson, she may argue with him; nay, she may refuse to argue with him at all, but she must not laugh at him, and Lucy had done this. Had she not irreverently compared him to Samson, and wickedly declared that she would like to be a Delilah to shear with her own hands his too redundant locks? Had she not told him that it was rude to wear the little square hat, which he persisted in calling a baretta, in the presence of ladies? Had she not openly asserted her belief that he wore a hair shirt and scourged himself in private? These are only a few of the many crimes of which Miss Warrender had been guilty. It was evidently the duty of the Reverend Barnes Puffin to convert Miss Warrender without loss of time.
Puffin was always well received at The Warren; he amused the squire by the seriousness of his arguments about trifling things. For every thing that he did, for every little bob, bow or gesture, the Reverend Barnes Puffin had a very good reason. Nothing that he did was trifling; it was always symbolical of something. According to him, for every movement of his body there was a ritual reason why. It became a sort of custom at The Warren that as soon as dessert was upon the table, the Reverend Barnes Puffin was allowed to mount his hobby-horse and wildly career. He liked to give what he called a little information on sacred things, and he made the most of his opportunities, for he never had a long innings, as he always retired with the ladies.