“Tut, tut,” said the baronet; “the beastly vapours of this place have depressed you. Now, what would you think of Grigsby?”
“A paradise,” sighed the old pastor.
“Then, sir, enter that paradise. It is mine to give. Genius like yours, sir, should be taken care of in its old age. My dear madam,” he continued, turning to the daughter, “add your solicitations to mine. There is no hard work, there is the most charming air in Kent, and there is a stipend which will permit the purchase of those luxuries to which an invalid is entitled.”
“It is like a dream, sir; it seems too good to believe,” said the daughter. Nevertheless, she argued with her father, and urged him till he was beaten down to a solitary argument, which was that he was too weak to be moved with safety. The kindly-hearted baronet, however, speedily dispelled that difficulty. When the time came he would arrange that the man of God should be removed by easy stages and in the most comfortable of vehicles.
And that is the manner in which the Rev. Dionysius Shotter, D.D., was appointed to the Grigsby living five-and-twenty years ago.
* * * * *
When Sir Lionel had praised the air of Grigsby he had not done it more than justice. Compared with Limpus it was indeed a paradise, and, to the great delight of his daughter Rachel, Dr. Shotter lost his cough before he had been two months in the new place. He began absolutely to put on flesh, found himself capable of walking a mile without inconvenience, and displayed a vigour in his pulpit discourses which would have roused feelings of envy, malice, hatred, and all un-charitableness in the breast of his curate—had that divine been capable of such worldly emotions.
If the prayers of a righteous man avail much, then should Sir Lionel Bodkin have been one of the most blessed of mortals; for the revivified minister prayed night and day for his benefactor, and called frequently at Bodkin Towers to return his personal thanks and to exhibit the beneficial results of the air of Grigsby on a constitution which he had regarded as shattered beyond hope of remedy.
“I don’t know how it is, Rachel,” he observed, after one of these visits, “but it seems to me that Sir Lionel does not seem to exhibit much joy and thankfulness at my marvellous recovery and daily access of strength.”
“Your fancy, pa dear,” replied his daughter.