Fred’s voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance, and Mr. Farebrother might have been inclined to smile if his mind had not been too busy in imagining more than Fred told him.
“Have you any difficulties about doctrines—about the Articles?” he said, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred’s sake.
“No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with any arguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than I am go in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculous in me to urge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge,” said Fred, quite simply.
“I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fair parish priest without being much of a divine?”
“Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and do my duty, though I mayn’t like it. Do you think anybody ought to blame me?”
“For going into the Church under the circumstances? That depends on your conscience, Fred—how far you have counted the cost, and seen what your position will require of you. I can only tell you about myself, that I have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in consequence.”
“But there is another hindrance,” said Fred, coloring. “I did not tell you before, though perhaps I may have said things that made you guess it. There is somebody I am very fond of: I have loved her ever since we were children.”
“Miss Garth, I suppose?” said the Vicar, examining some labels very closely.
“Yes. I shouldn’t mind anything if she would have me. And I know I could be a good fellow then.”
“And you think she returns the feeling?”