Does his own marketing in the early hours. I met him
one day before breakfast, walking with a large brown basket on his arm.
Said he was buying anchovies. There was a big haul of them overnight.
He had heard about it. A penny a pound, he said. I noticed some lettuce
as well. A couple of oranges. Fine chap! He knows what he wants."
The bishop looked over the gate. An air of friendly seclusion reigned
in this place. There was no pretence at a garden--not so much as a rose
tree or a snapdragon; the vines, of daintiest green but sternly
utilitarian, clambered up to the door-lintel, invading the very roof.
He pictured to himself the interior. Bare walls and floorings, a print
or two, a few trunks and packing cases utilized as seats, a bookshelf,
a plain table littered with manuscripts; somewhere, in that further
room, a camp bedstead whereon this man of single aim and purpose, this
monk of literature, was even then at rest like all sensible folks, and
dreaming--dreaming, presumably, of foot-notes.
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