pays a man to do his duty.

I had thought of devoting a paragraph to ministers and deacons. But
perhaps I had better not. These matters are very intricate and very
delicate, and need a tenderer touch than mine. Things will sometimes
go wrong. The river will rise. The cellar gets flooded, and the hens
get drowned. But, really, I am certain that, nine times out of ten,
perhaps ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it is better to bury the
poor birds quietly and say no more about it. I don't know quite how to
apply this parable. I was afraid I should get out of my depth if I
ventured into such matters. But suppose that the minister finds some
morning that his cellar is flooded and his pet birds drowned. Of
course, it is pleasant to send in your resignation and say that you
will not stand it. And yet, and yet--rivers will rise; it is a way
that rivers have; and the Church Secretary, when he receives the
resignation, feels as helpless as the landlord. And has the minister
any guarantee that the next river on the banks of which he builds his
nest will never rise? And, even if he is certain of perfection in the
fields to which he flies, is he quite justified in avenging his dead
hens by imperilling his living children and his living church?

Or perhaps I have misinterpreted the story. I am really very nervous
about it, and feel that I have plunged into things too high for me.
Perhaps the minister is the landlord. It is through his wickedness
that the river has risen and drowned some of the Church's best hens, or
at least ruffled the fine feathers of some of the Church's best birds.
It is the easiest thing in the world to give him notice to quit. And
it accords magnificently with the dignity of the situation. But are we
quite sure that the poor minister made the river rise? That is the
question the tenant ought to consider. Was it the landlord's fault? I
repeat that rivers will rise at times, generally at storm times. The
Nile and the Tigris used to rise in prehistoric times. It is a way
rivers have. I really think that it will be as well to say no more
about it. Try to smooth down the ruffled feathers and forget. It may
not have been his fault; and, anyhow, we shall be saying good-bye to a
good many delightful experiences if we part company.

And, really, when you think it over quietly, there seems to be a great
deal in the landlord's suggestion: 'Try ducks!' Of course, ducks are
the very thing for a