“One thing was,” said Mr. Wilmot, smiling, “that a man must take himself in hand at some time in his life, and Dr. May only began to think himself responsible for himself when he lost his wife, who was wise for both. She was an admirable person, but not easy to know well. I think you knew her at—”
“I say,” interrupted Dr. Spencer, “it strikes me that we could not do better than get up our S. P. G. demonstration on the day of the stone—”
Hitherto the Stoneborough subscribers to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel had been few and far between; but, under the new dynasty, there was a talk of forming an association, and having a meeting to bring the subject forward. Dr. Spencer’s proposal, however, took the vicar by surprise.
“Never could there be a better time,” he argued. “You have naturally a gathering of clergy—people ought to be liberal on such an occasion, and, as Cocksmoor is provided for, why not give the benefit to the missions, in their crying need!”
“True, but there is no time to send for any one to make a speech.”
“Husband your resources. What could you have better than young Harry and his islanders?”
“Harry would never make a speech.”
“Let him cram Norman. Young Lake tells me Norman made a great sensation at the Union at Oxford, and if his heart is in the work, he must not shrink from the face of his townsmen.”
“No doubt he had rather they were savages,” said the vicar. “And yourself—you will tell them of the Indian missions.”
“With all my heart,” said Dr. Spencer. “When my Brahminhee godson—the deacon I told you of, comes to pay me his promised visit, what doings we shall have! Seriously, I have just had letters from him and from others, that speak of such need, that I could feel every moment wasted that is not spent on their behalf.”