chievous ideas. And I have heard another story. …"
"But what can I do?" said the Angel. "Suppose I am (quite unintentionally) doing mischief. …"
"You can leave the village," said Crump.
"Then I shall only go into another village."
"That's not my affair," said Crump. " Go where you like. Only go. Leave these three people, the Vicar, Shine, the little servant-girl, whose heads are all spinning with galaxies of Angels. …"
"But," said the Angel, "Face your world! I tell you I can't. And leave Delia! I don't understand. … I do not know how to set about getting Work and Food and Shelter. And I am growing afraid of human beings. …"
"Fancies, fancies," said Crump, watching him, "mania."
"It's no good my persisting in worrying you," he said suddenly, "but certainly the situation is impossible as it stands." He stood up with a jerk.
"Good-morning, Mr.—Angel," he said, "the long and the short of it is—I say it as the medical adviser of this parish—you are an
