Presently, as Edward John turned his glance along the village street towards the Parish Church, which sat on a leafy knoll to the west, with a reproving eye on all Hampton, he saw the Rev. Godfrey Needham hastening eastward at a brisk pace.
The sight was no unusual one. Mr. Needham never moved unless in a whirl, the looseness of his clerical garb helping him to create quite a little gust of energy as he hurried by with his good-hearted greetings to his admiring parishioners. Such haste in a man of sixty was unaccountable, especially when one was fully alive to his appearance. He looked as if he had suddenly awakened after going to sleep a century before, and was in a hurry to make up lost time. Thin-faced, with prominent nose, and eyes red at the rims, blinking behind spectacles; he wore a rusty clerical hat and clothes of ancient cut and material, his trousers terminating a good three inches above his low shoes and disclosing socks, formerly white. The fact that his legs remotely suggested a pair of calipers added to the quaintness of the figure he presented while in full stride down the village street.
The moment Mr. Needham swung into view, the coat-tails of the postmaster were violently agitated, and his face broadened into a smile as he turned quickly into the doorway and called:
"'Enry, 'ere quick. 'Ere's the passon!"
Back in the shade and coolness of the shop the person thus addressed had been eagerly engaged in dipping into several volumes just brought that morning by the carrier from Birmingham, for it was Mr. Edward John Charles's great privilege to be the medium of obtaining books for several of the county gentry in the neighbourhood of Hampton, and these were always feverishly fingered by his son Henry before being despatched to their purchasers.
This same Henry was esteemed by his fond parent a perfect marvel of learning, and nothing delighted more the postmaster than to present him on all available occasions for the vicar's admiration.
In response to the summons, Henry issued into the sunlight of the open door, and craning his neck beyond the projecting window, beheld the advancing figure of the vicar. But the vicar, rusty and time-soiled though he seemed, was still well-oiled mentally, and had taken in at a glance the manœuvres at the Post Office door. Knowing that he would have to fight his way past, he slowed down and approached with a pleasant "Good-morning" to Edward John and a bright smile for Henry, who was his favourite among the lads of the village.
"Well, Henry," he said, as if opening fire, "how do the studies progress?"
"'Enry," returned the postmaster, before the lad had time to answer, "is making wonnerful progress, simply wonnerful. I reckon all the prizes at the school this term are as good as 'is," and the coat-tails opened into a particularly expanded V. "And as for Latin, vicar," he continued, "I shouldn't be surprised if 'e was soon upsides with yourself! 'E's at it every night. Oh, 'e do study, I can tell you."
Mr. Needham smiled at this parental puffery, and answered somewhat timidly: