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was not so dense and shy as the children of the hamlet near us, and Emily extracted from him that Miss Ellen was ‘Our passon’s young lady.’

      ‘Mr. Mears’!’ she exclaimed.

      ‘No: ourn be Passon Fordy.’

      It turned out that this place was not in Earlscombe at all, but in Hillside, a different parish; and the boy, Amos, further communicated that there was old Passon Fordy, and Passon Frank, and Madam, what was Mr. Frank’s lady.  Yes, he could read, he could; he went to Sunday School, and was in Miss Ellen’s class; he had been to school worky days, only father was dead, and Farmer Hartop gave him a job.

      It was plain that Hillside was under a very different rule from Earlscombe; and Emily was delighted to have discovered that the sweet cottage bonnet’s owner was called Ellen, which just then was the pet Christian name of romance, in honour of the Lady of the Lake.

      In the midst of her raptures, however, just as we were about to turn in at our own gate into the wood, we heard horses’ hoofs, and then came, careering by on ponies, a very pretty girl and a youth of about the same age.  Clarence’s hand rose to his hat, and he made his eager bow; but the young lady did not vouchsafe the slightest acknowledgment, turned her head away, and urged her pony to speed.

      Emily broke out with an angry disappointed exclamation.  Clarence’s face was scarlet, and he said low and hoarsely, ‘That’s Lester.  He was in the Argus at Portsmouth two years ago;’—and then, as our little sister continued her indignant exclamations, he added, ‘Hush!  Don’t on any account say a word about it.  I had better get back to my work.  I am only doing you harm by staying here.’

      At which Emily shed tears, and together we persuaded him not to curtail his holiday, which, indeed, he could not have done without assigning the reason to the elders, and this was out of the question.  Nor did he venture to hang back when, as our service was to be on Sunday afternoon, my father proposed to walk to Hillside Church in the morning.  They came back well pleased.  There was care and decency throughout.  The psalms were sung to a ‘grinder organ’—which was an advanced state of things in those days—and very nicely.  Parson Frank read well and impressively, and the old parson, a fine venerable man, had preached an excellent sermon—really admirable, as my father repeated.  Our party had been scarcely in time, and had been disposed of in seats close to the door, where Clarence was quite out of sight of the disdainful young lady and her squire, of whom Emily begged to hear no more.

      She looked askance at the cards left on the hall table the next day—‘The Rev. Christopher Fordyce,’ and ‘The Rev. F. C. Fordyce,’ also ‘Mrs. F. C. Fordyce, Hillside Rectory.’

      We had found out that Hillside was a family living, and that there was much activity there on the part of the father and son—rector and curate; and that the other clerical folk, ladies especially, who called on us, spoke of Mrs. F. C. Fordyce with a certain tone, as if they were afraid of her, as Sir Horace Lester’s sister,—very superior, very active, very strict in her notions,—as if these were so many defects.  They were an offshoot of the old Fordyces of Chantry House, but so far back that all recollection of kindred or connection must have worn out.  Their property—all in beautiful order—marched with ours, and Chapman was very particular about the boundaries.  ‘Old master he wouldn’t have a bird picked up if it fell over on they Fordys’ ground—not he!  He couldn’t abide passons, couldn’t the old Squire—not Miss Hannah More, and all they Cheddar lot, and they Fordys least of all.  My son’s wife, she was for sending her little maid to Hillside to Madam Fordys’ school, but, bless your heart, ’twould have been as much as my place was worth if master had known it.’

      The visit was not returned till after Clarence had gone back to his London work.  Sore as was the loss of him from my daily life, I could see that the new world and fresh acquaintances were a trial to him, and especially since the encounter with young Lester had driven him back into his shell, so that he would be better where he was already known and had nothing new to overcome.  Emily, though not yet sixteen, was emancipated from schoolroom habits, and the dear girl was my devoted slave to an extent that perhaps I abused.

      Not being ‘come out,’ she was left at home on the day when we set out on a regular progress in the chariot with post-horses.  The britshka and pair, which were our ambition, were to wait till my father’s next rents came in.  Morning calls in the country were a solemn and imposing ceremony, and the head of the family had to be taken on the first circuit; nor was there much scruple as to making them in the forenoon, so several were to be disposed of before fulfilling an engagement to luncheon at the farthest point, where some old London friends had borrowed a house for the summer, and had included me in their invitation.

      Here alone did I leave the carriage, but I had Cooper’s Spy and my sketch-book as companions while waiting at doors where the inhabitants were at home.  The last visit was at Hillside Rectory, a house of architecture somewhat similar to our own, but of the soft creamy stone which so well set off the vine with purple clusters, the myrtles and fuchsias, that covered it.  I was wishing we had drawn up far enough off for a sketch to be possible, when, from a window close above, I heard the following words in a clear girlish voice—

      ‘No, indeed!  I’m not going down.  It is only those horrid Earlscombe people.  I can’t think how they have the face to come near us!’

      There was a reply, perhaps that the parents had made the first visit, for the rejoinder was—‘Yes; grandpapa said it was a Christian duty to make an advance; but they need not have come so soon.  Indeed, I wonder they show themselves at all.  I am sure I would not if I had such a dreadful son.’  Presently, ‘I hate to think of it.  That I should have thanked him.  Depend upon it, he will never pay the doctor.  A coward like that is capable of anything.’

      The proverb had been realised, but there could hardly have been a more involuntary or helpless listener.  Presently my parents came back, escorted by both the gentlemen of the house, tall fine-looking men, the elder with snowy hair, and the dignity of men of the old school; the younger with a joyous, hearty, out-of-door countenance, more like a squire than a clergyman.

      The visit seemed to have been gratifying.  Mrs. Fordyce was declared to be of higher stamp than most of the neighbouring ladies; and my father was much pleased with the two clergymen, while as we drove along he kept on admiring the well-ordered fields and fences, and contrasting the pretty cottages and trim gardens with the dreary appearance of our own village.  I asked why Amos Bell’s home had been neglected, and was answered with some annoyance, as I pointed down the lane, that it was on our land, though in Hillside parish.  ‘I am glad to have such neighbours!’ observed my mother, and I kept to myself the remarks I had heard, though I was still tingling with the sting of them.

      We heard no more of ‘they Fordys’ for some time.  The married pair went away to stay with friends, and we only once met the old gentleman, when I was waiting in the street at Wattlesea in the donkey chair, while my mother was trying to match netting silk in the odd little shop that united fancy work, toys, and tracts with the post office.  Old Mr. Fordyce met us as we drew up, handed her out with a grand seigneur’s courtesy, and stood talking to me so delightfully that I quite forgot it was from Christian duty.

      My father corresponded with the old Rector about the state of the parish, and at last went over to Bath for a personal conference, but without much satisfaction.  The Earlscombe people were pronounced to be an ungrateful good-for-nothing set, for whom it was of no use to do anything; and indeed my mother made such discoveries in the cottages that she durst not let Emily fulfil her cherished scheme of visiting them.  The only resemblance to the favourite heroines of religious tales that could be permitted was assembling a tiny Sunday class in Chapman’s lodge; and it must be confessed that her brothers thought she made as much fuss about it as if there had been a hundred scholars.

      However, between remonstrances and offers of undertaking a share of the expense, my father managed to get Mr. Mears’ services dispensed with from the ensuing Lady Day, and that a resident curate should be appointed, the choice of whom was to rest with himself.  It was then and there decided that Martyn should be ‘brought up to the Church,’ as people then used to term destination to Holy Orders.  My father

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