“Of an eagle,” said my father, “looking towards the left.”
“Towards the left?” I said. “But where’s it to stand?”
“At the top of the aisle,” said my father, “just below the chancel steps.”
“But, dear father,” I cried, “we already have a lectern,” and indeed this was literally the case, since the cavity or enclosure adjoining the choir seats, from which the vicar or his curate read the service, was also provided with a separate book-rest for the purpose of delivering the lessons.
“Yes, I know,” said my father, “but that wouldn’t deter Carkeek.”
“But surely,” I cried, “the vicar hasn’t accepted it?”
“He has not only accepted it,” said my father, “but the thing’s in position.”
“In position,” I said, “and looking to the left?”
My father nodded again.
“Just west of south,” he said.