The village was now in sight, but an unlooked-for obstacle presented itself. The little stream, crossed usually by a picturesque bridge, had been so swollen by the rains that the bridge appeared like an island in the middle.
Here was a quandary. It might be several hours before the carriage arrived, and night was coming on.
"What are we to do?" said the Bishop.
"My lord," replied the chaplain, "if you will get on my back I will carry you to the bridge."
The Bishop demurred, spoke of his weight, and the undignified appearance he would present. But the chaplain was strong, and finally persuaded him. When fairly in the middle he came to a full stop.
"Are you tired, Haldane?" said the Bishop.
"No, my lord, I am not tired; but I wish to speak to you again about that rural deanery."
"But, my dear fellow," cried the Bishop, in alarm, "this is no place to talk; wait till we get to the other side."
"On the contrary, my lord, I think this is an excellent place to talk, for if you refuse me I shall drop you."
The Bishop tried to temporize; but the chaplain was immovable.