The archdeacon took up his hat, and returned to his hotel,

thinking the matter over deeply. At any rate he would sound
Quiverful. A man with twelve children would do much to

double his income.
CHAPTER XX

Farewell
On the morning after Mr Harding's return home he received

a note from the bishop full of affection, condolence,
and praise. 'Pray come to me at once,' wrote the bishop,

'that we may see what had better be done; as to the hospital,
I will not say a word to dissuade you; but I don't like your

going to Crabtree: at any rate, come to me at once.'
Mr Harding did go to him at once; and long and confidential

was the consultation between the two old friends. There
they sat together the whole long day, plotting to get the better

of the archdeacon, and to carry out little schemes of their own,
which they knew would be opposed by the whole weight of

his authority.
The bishop's first idea was, that Mr Harding, if left to himself,

would certainly starve--not in the figurative sense in which
so many of our ladies and gentlemen do starve on incomes from

one to five hundred a year; not that he would be starved as
regarded dress coats, port wine, and pocket-money; but that he

would positivelyperish of inanition for want of bread.
'How is a man to live, when he gives up all his income?'

said the bishop to himself. And then the good-natured little
man began to consider how his friend might be best rescued

from a death so horrid and painful.
His first proposition to Mr Harding was, that they should

live together at the palace. He, the bishop, positively assured
Mr Harding that he wanted another resident" target="_blank" title="a.居住的 n.居民">residentchaplain--not

a young workingchaplain, but a steady, middle-agedchaplain;
one who would dine and drink a glass of wine with him,

talk about the archdeacon, and poke the fire. The bishop did
not positively name all these duties, but he gave Mr Harding to

understand that such would be the nature of the service required.
It was not without much difficulty that Mr Harding made

his friend see that this would not suit him; that he could not
throw up the bishop's preferment, and then come and hang

on at the bishop's table; that he could not allow people to
say of him that it was an easy matter to abandon his own

income, as he was able to sponge on that of another person.
He succeeded, however, in explaining that the plan would not

do, and then the bishop brought forward another which he
had in his sleeve. He, the bishop, had in his will left certain

moneys to Mr Harding's two daughters, imagining that Mr
Harding would himself want no such assistance during his own

lifetime. This legacyamounted to three thousand pounds
each, duty free; and he now pressed it as a gift on his friend.

'The girls, you know,' said he, 'will have it just the same
when you're gone--and they won't want it sooner--and as for

the interest during my lifetime, it isn't worth talking about.
I have more than enough.'

With much difficulty and heartfelt sorrow, Mr Harding
refused also this offer. No; his wish was to support himself,

however poorly--not to be supported on the charity of anyone.
It was hard to make the bishop understand this; it was

hard to make him comprehend that the only real favour he
could confer was the continuation of his independent friendship;

but at last even this was done. At any rate, thought the
bishop, he will come and dine with me from time to time, and

if he be absolutely starving I shall see it.
Touching the precentorship, the bishop was clearly of

opinion that it could be held without the other situation--an
opinion from which no one differed; and it was therefore soon

settled among all the parties concerned, that Mr Harding
should still be the precentor of the cathedral.

On the day following Mr Harding's return, the archdeacon
reached Plumstead full of Mr Cummins's scheme regarding

Puddingdale and Mr Quiverful. On the very next morning
he drove over to Puddingdale, and obtained the full consent of

the wretchedclerical Priam, who was endeavouring to feed his
poor Hecuba and a dozen of Hectors on the small proceeds of his

ecclesiastical kingdom. Mr Quiverful had no doubts as to the
legal rights of the warden; his conscience would be quite clear

as to accepting the income; and as to The Jupiter, he begged
to assure the archdeacon that he was quite indifferent to any

emanations from the profaneportion of the periodical press.
Having so far succeeded, he next sounded the bishop; but

here he was astonished by most unexpectedresistance. The
bishop did not think it would do. 'Not do, why not?' and

seeing that his father was not shaken, he repeated the question
in a severer form: 'Why not do, my lord?'

His lordship looked very unhappy, and shuffled about in
his chair, but still didn't give way; he thought Puddingdale

wouldn't do for Mr Harding; it was too far from Barchester.
'Oh! of course he'll have a curate.'

The bishop also thought that Mr Quiverful wouldn't do for
the hospital; such an exchange wouldn't look well at such a

time; and, when pressed harder, he declared he didn't think
Mr Harding would accept of Puddingdale under any circumstances.

'How is he to live?' demanded the archdeacon.
The bishop, with tears in his eyes, declared that he had not

the slightest conception how life was to be sustained within
him at all.

The archdeacon then left his father, and went down to the
hospital; but Mr Harding wouldn't listen at all to the Puddingdale

scheme. To his eyes it had no attraction; it savoured of simony,
and was likely to bring down upon him harder and more deserved

strictures than any he had yet received: he positively declined to
become vicar of Puddingdale under any circumstances.

The archdeacon waxed wroth, talked big, and looked
bigger; he said something about dependence and beggary,

spoke of the duty every man was under to earn his bread,
made passing allusions to the follies of youth and waywardness

of age, as though Mr Harding were afflicted by both, and
ended by declaring that he had done. He felt that he had left

no stone unturned to arrange matters on the best and easiest
footing; that he had, in fact, so arranged them, that he had so

managed that there was no further need of any anxiety in the
matter. And how had he been paid? His advice had been

systematically rejected; he had been not only slighted, but
distrusted and avoided; he and his measures had been utterly

thrown over, as had been Sir Abraham, who, he had reason to
know, was much pained at what had occurred. He now found

it was useless to interfere any further, and he should retire. If
any further assistance were required from him, he would probably

be called on, and should be again happy to come forward.
And so he left the hospital, and has not since entered it from

that day to this.
And here we must take leave of Archdeacon Grantly. We

fear that he is represented in these pages as being worse than
he is; but we have had to do with his foibles, and not with his

virtues. We have seen only the weak side of the man, and
have lacked the opportunity of bringing him forward on his

strong ground. That he is a man somewhat too fond of his
own way, and not sufficiently scrupulous in his manner of

achieving it, his best friends cannot deny. That he is bigoted
in favour, not so much of his doctrines as of his cloth, is also

true: and it is true that the possession of a large income is a
desire that sits near his heart. Nevertheless, the archdeacon is

a gentleman and a man of conscience; he spends his money
liberally, and does the work he has to do with the best of his