Mr. Saxelby having been known for many
years previous to his marriage as a constant and
attentive member of the congregation of St.
Philip's, it was natural that he should be held
in high favour by the Flukes, and that the
ladies of that family should have endeavoured
to cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs. Saxelby
and Mabel. They had not prospered very well
in this endeavour; finding Mrs. Saxelby far below
their standard of zeal;—"lukewarm," Miss
Fluke pronounced briefly;—and Mabel, given
to disconcerting repartee and argument when
pushed too hard on points of low-church doctrine
or practice. Disconcerting, that is to say, to one
or two of the younger girls. Miss Fluke was
never disconcerted by anything or anybody.
Mr. Saxelby, however, strongly encouraged an
intimacy between his family and the Misses
Fluke; and his wife, in her usual spirit of
conformity, endeavoured to make herself as
agreeable to those ladies as the imperfect state
of her spiritual development would permit.

On the day following the evening spoken of
in the last chapter, Miss Fluke and her third
sister, Jane, made an afternoon visit to the
inmates of Jessamine Cottage. Afternoon visits
were not much in Miss Fluke's way generally;
she looked on such formalities as vanity and
waste of time; saying, in her trenchant manner,
"That she had no leisure for such observances,
but that all Christian friends who had, would
find her at home on Friday afternoons with her
sewing-basket, when they could listen to her
conversation, and satisfy themselves of her
perfect health, without taking up valuable hours
which should be devoted to the "Lord's work."
The work which Miss Fluke thus designated,
was, on Fridays, the construction of very coarse
and very scanty garments—chiefly of flannel—
for the poor. But on this especial afternoon
Miss Fluke and Miss Jane Fluke did make a
call at Jessamine Cottage, and finding the
Saxelbys at their early dinner, sat down very
willingly to partake of it with them.

"The labourer," said Miss Fluke, holding
her plate for another slice of beef, "is worthy
of his hire."

"True, indeed," returned Mr. Saxelby, "and
you, my dear Miss Fluke, are indefatigable in the
vineyard. Mabel, help Miss Fluke to potatoes."
Mr Saxelby was a short spare man, so
upright as to give the idea that his back was
supported by artificial means, and he walked, and
moved, and spoke, with a sort of metallic snap.
"It's a stubborn soil, Mr. Saxelby," said Miss
Fluke, "and requires the ploughshare to go
deep, deep, deep."

Miss Jane sighed, and murmured, "Deep, deep,
deep." She had a way of repeating her sister's
last word; this being, indeed, her only chance
of joining in the conversation at all, when
Miss Fluke was fairly launched on one of her
favourite parish topics.

"Now, this very day," resumed the latter,
"I've been district visiting for Eliza. Her
beat is quite separate from mine, and really I
have not time to take any extra duty. Only
Eliza is laid up with a cold, and the other girls'
lists are all full. So, of course, I wouldn't
withdraw my neck from the yoke, nor turn
back from the narrow path, however thorny."

"Thorny," said Miss Jane, pouring some
cream over her fruit tart.

"Now, Mrs. Saxelby," said Miss Fluke,
turning on her hostess with such suddenness as
to make that lady drop her fork with a clash,
'why don't you come back to us? "We want
recruits. You had half a district with Loui last
summer. Why abandon the good work? Remember,
you will have to give an account of your
talent, even though you bury it in a napkin."

Miss Fluke shook her bead so emphatically
that the jet flowers in her bonnet quivered
again. She usually wore black. No one quite
knew why. Possibly because it had a good
lugubrious effect by a sick-bed, and attuned the
patient's mind to thoughts of a becomingly
gloomy nature. Or, she may have worn black
as mourning for the sins of her neighbours.

"My dear Miss Fluke," said Mrs. Saxelby,
smiling faintly, and looking helplessly at her
husband, "I assure you I have no talent—-"

"We all have talents in the Scripture sense,
Mrs. Saxelby," interrupted Miss Fluke.

"Yes, of course. But I mean that I really
am not fit for the work. My health is not
strong; and then I have no influence whatsoever
over the people. They frighten me."

"I think," said Mr. Saxelby, "I do think,
that my wife is not quite adapted for district
visiting. It requires stamina."

The Misses Fluke looked at each other with
a significant smile, and nodded their heads. It
had been found, indeed, on several occasions,
that considerable stamina was required on the
part of the visited, as well as the visitors:
Miss Fluke's religious exercises being of a
fatiguing, not to say exhausting kind.

"Be it so," said Miss Fluke, with the air of
making a great concession, and scorning to take
any credit for it. "But there are other branches.
Dorcas meetings, Bible class, catechism class,
hymn class, missionary collections, clothing
committees, tract distribution. Come, Mrs. Saxelby,
you cannot plead incompetency for all."

"Really, I— I don't know," stammered the
poor little woman, colouring painfully, and feeling
very much inclined to cry. "I'm so afraid
to interfere with people, and have so little
confidence in my own power to comfort them, or
do them any good."

"Comfort them!" cried Miss Fluke.

"Comfort them!" echoed her sister.

"You—must—awake—them— to—a—sense
—of sin. That's the one thing needful, Mrs.
Saxelby. Comfort's of no use to them until
they've got a sense of sin. It's a snare and a
delusion —a folding of the hands to slumber."

Mabel, who had been sitting silently attentive,
turned upon Miss Fluke, who was quite red in
the face from the strength of her emphasis,
and was about to make some rejoinder; but she
caught her mother's imploring glance, and
refrained. Miss Fluke, however, had perceived