Finally he informed me that as he had to christen a sick baby five miles away on a certain moor and it was too wet for him to ride his bicycle, he must stop.

And he stopped.
There was, however, a P.S.to the letter, which ran as follows: "Someone told me that you were dead a few years ago, and of course it may be another man of the same name who owns Fulcombe.

If so, no doubt the Post Office will send back this letter." That was his only allusion to my humble self in all those diffuse pages.
It was a long while since I had received an epistle which made me laugh so much, and of course I gave him the living by return of post, and even informed him that I would increase its stipend to a sum which I considered suitable to the position.
About ten days later I received another letter from Bastin which, as a scrawl on the flap of the envelope informed me, he had carried for a week in his pocket and forgotten to post.

Except by inference it returned no thanks for my intended benefits.

What it did say, however, was that he thought it wrong of me to have settled a matter of such spiritual importance in so great a hurry, though he had observed that rich men were nearly always selfish where their time was concerned.
Moreover, he considered that I ought first to have made inquiries as to his present character and attainments, etc., etc.
To this epistle I replied by telegraph to the effect that I should as soon think of making inquiries about the character of an archangel, or that of one of his High Church saints.