As Bess was passing the garden gate of the rectory above the church, she saw a fat gentleman in his shirt-sleeves weeding the gravel path that wound up to the house. The place looked very peaceful in the morning light, with its tiled gables showing above chestnuts, yews, and hollies, and a single trail of smoke ascending from one tall chimney-stack. Bess conjectured that it was the parsonage, and that the stout gentleman was the incumbent. She knew nothing much of parsons save that they preached on the ten commandments, made wedlock honest, and baptized babies. Dr. Sugg’s red face was turned towards her as she stood outside the gate looking wistfully in. The rector had a garden-trug beside him and a hoe in his right hand. He was proud of his flowers and fruit trees, and was more severe on weeds than he was on sinners.
Bess was looking at Dr. Sugg very steadfastly. Surely the old gentleman had a good-tempered face and a pair of kindly eyes that were inclined to twinkle. Why should she not lay the burden of her distress before his broad, buckled shoes, and, being a man of God, he should be able to advise her. She turned in suddenly at the gate, purposing to try the sincerity of the old gentleman’s profession.
Dr. Sugg stood up with several daisy roots in his hand, and stared at Bess with his shrewd and genial eyes. At the first glance, with her black hair and ruddy face, she might have been taken for a gypsy. A closer scrutiny suggested a more romantic and interesting vagrant. The girl was strangely handsome, with a fine carriage and almost the air of a great lady, and Dr. Sugg always had an appreciative smile for a comely woman.
The rector addressed all young women as “Susan,” a fatherly and comprehensive pseudonyme that mingled benignity with good-humor. Bess’s lips parted in a smile. The old gentleman’s manner pleased her, and she thought he appeared capable of being trusted.
Dr. Sugg seemed amused by the blunt innocence of the question. He threw the daisy roots into the trug, and reached for his coat that was hanging on a neighboring laurel.
“I happen to be the rector of Rodenham, young woman,” he said, studying her with the professional eye.
“My advice is at your service, my dear, for what it is worth.”