and none of them had probably ever heard of--much less read--an
important book which he had written, and which was the standard
work on his special subject. To them he was simply a deaf,
eccentric, and solitary clergyman; and I think I was the only
person in the neighbourhood who had conversed with him on the
subject concerning which he was the greatest living authority in
England.

For I had seen the old man once--curiously enough at the time of
a Harvest Festival, though it was some years before the one
which had led to his disappearance. Bicycling one day over the
hills, I had ridden down into a valley of cornfields, and then,
passing along an unfenced road that ran across a wide expanse of
stubble, I came, after getting off to open three or four gates,
upon a group of thatched cottages, with a little, unrestored
Norman church standing among great elms, I left my bicycle and
walked through the churchyard, and as I went into the church,
through its deeply-recessed Norman doorway, a surprisingly
pretty sight met my eyes. The dim, cool, little interior was
set out and richly adorned with an abundance of fruit and
vegetables, yellow gourds, apples and plums and golden wheat
sheaves, great loaves of bread, and garlands of September
flowers. A shabby-looking old clergyman was standing on the top
of a step-ladder, finishing the decorations, when I entered. As
soon as he saw me he came down, and I spoke to him, praising the
decorations, and raising my voice a little, for I noticed that
he was somewhat deaf. We talked of the Harvest Festival, and as
I soon perceived that I was talking with a man of books and
University education, I ventured to hint at what had vividly
impressed me in that old, gaudily-decorated church--its pagan