Mr. Cowdrick, although making no profession of a special fondness for a religious life, was one of the pillars of St. Cadmus’s Church. He had been elected to a place in the vestry; he held two pews; he contributed upon occasion to the Church fund; and Rev. Mr. Tunicle, who was “an advanced Ritualist,” found in Mr. Cowdrick an ardent supporter whenever he undertook to introduce innovations in his method of conducting the services.
It did not seem important to Mr. Cowdrick that Mr. Tunicle should always try to produce from the records of the early Church his authority for any new and surprising practice that he wished to adopt. If the thing seemed to Mr. Cowdrick good in itself, if it pleased his eye, and gratified what he chose to consider the æsthetic demands of his nature, he deemed it unnecessary to ask any more questions. He would as soon have thought of inquiring, before he bought a new chair for his library, or a new set of plate for his table, whether his grandfather had established any precedent in the matter of the purchase of chairs and dishes, as to have sought in ecclesiological history warrant for the embellishment of the services at St. Cadmus’s. It was enough that the worshipers who had the most money, and who were able to pay for novelties, wanted them.
Mr. Tunicle, or Father Tunicle, as his most enthusiastic admirers called him, was a frequent visitor at the house of Mr. Cowdrick. Not only did he find there a great deal of sympathy with his plans, but he liked the society of Leonie, and he was exceedingly anxious to enlist her among the active workers in the church.
He called upon Leonie one evening, shortly after her betrothal to Mr. Weems; and as the artist happened to be out of town, Father Tunicle had an opportunity to enjoy some uninterrupted conversation with the young lady.
“I noticed last Sunday, Father Tunicle,” said Leonie, after some preliminary conversation, “that you did not use the velvet sermon-cover I worked for you. I hope you are pleased with it?”
“Oh yes, delighted with it. But then, you know, I couldn’t use it last Sunday. The color for the Third Sunday after Epiphany is green, and the sermon cover you know, is violet. I can use it on Septuagesima Sunday, of course. We cannot be too particular about these things in a world that is lying in wickedness.”
“Oh, excuse me,” said Leonie. “I had gotten the idea, somehow, that violet was the morning color for last Sunday, and red the evening color.”
“You are thinking of Quinquagesima Sunday, Miss Cowdrick,” said Father Tunicle, smiling gravely. “The color changes upon that day. You must study more carefully the little almanac I gave you. When the Church provides us with good books which may guide us to lives of earnest devotion, it is our duty to read them attentively.”
“I will promise to do better in the future,” said Leonie, meekly.
“I ought to tell you also,” continued Father Tunicle, “that I could not use the Lavabo you worked for me, at all.”