"All right, mum," answered the cabman.
He folded up the newspaper, thrust it into his
pocket, and scrambled down in a stiff, bow-
legged fashion to open the cab door.

Augusta entered the vehicle, and Mr. Fluke
stood waiting for his daughter to do the same.
But Miss Fluke still remained immovable, with
her eyes fixed on the cabman, and one hand
fumbling in her pocket. "What were you
reading, my good man?" she repeated, glaring
at him.

"Where to, sir?" asked the cabman, huskily,
of Mr. Fluke. The reverend gentleman gave
Mrs. Dawson's address in Mayfair.

"Here," said Miss Fluke, no whit abashed,
and drawing a tract from her pocket, "here is
a beautiful little story that I wish you would
promise me to read in your leisure moments,
my friend."

"All right, mum," rejoined the cabman,
scrambling on to his box again.

"Take it, my good man; it is for you. Take
it, and put it in your pocket."

"Thankee, mum," said the man, looking at
her for the first time, as he gathered the reins
in his hand, "I won't deprive you."

Mr. Fluke handed his daughter into the cab
somewhat hastily, for the horse made a sudden
plunge, and evinced an unexpected desire to
start.

"I think," said Miss Fluke, with much
solemnity, after they had ridden some distance
in silence—"I think that I should very much
like to be connected with a mission for the
conversion of the London cabmen!"

CHAPTER VIII. CORDA MAKES A DISCOVERY.

A CROWD of people was pouring out of a
large oblong brick church in a populous
neighbourhood on the Surrey side of Blackfriars-
bridge. It was a hot evening, and the faces of
the congregation bore evidences of the high
temperature within the church. Even the
dusty streets and tainted atmosphere outside
appeared cool and fragrant by contrast. The
daylight had not yet faded from the sky,
although the sun had gone down, reddening the
haze and smoke of London until he looked like
a golden ball cast into a flaming furnace. The
Reverend Decimus Fluke had been preaching a
charity sermon for the benefit of some ragged
schools in the oblong church; and the Reverend
Decimus Fluke's name had travelled
beyond the limits of his own parish and his own
town, as that of a zealous and powerful preacher
of sound evangelical doctrine. He was looked
upon as a shining light of the Low Church
party, and the announcement of his name had
attracted a large congregation. It was a well-
dressed, well-to-do congregation, assembled
from a wide circuit round. From Camberwell,
Clapham, Brixton, and even Peckham-rye, the
citizens and the citizens' wives and daughters
had made long pilgrimages to hear what one old
lady called "a good strong sermon;" and, it
is to be hoped, also with some design of
benefiting the ragged scholars on whose behalf
they were appealed to. But Miss Fluke's pious
hope that the good seed would be sown by
her father's instrumentality amongst the very
wretched population of the neighbourhood
seemed likely to be frustrated, for even the
ordinary frequenters of the oblong church did
not belong to anything like so poor a class as the
majority of the inhabitants of the district. The
very poor, the real labouring people, did not go to
church, or at any rate did not go to that church.
The incumbent, an old friend of Mr. Fluke, had
invited that gentleman and his daughter to pass
the remainder of the evening at his house. Mr.
Lubbock, the curate, also an old acquaintance
of the Flukes, and formerly of Eastfield, was
to be of the party. They all came out of the
vestry together, avoiding the crowd. At the
gate a close carriage was drawn up, and some
ladies and gentlemen were making their way to
it across the stream of people.

"There," cried Miss Fluke, "are Augusta
and the Charlewoods." The party from the
vestry paused to accost them. There were
Mr. and Mrs. Malachi Dawson, and Clement
with his mother on his arm. When greetings
had been interchanged, and a word or two
said about the sermon, Miss Fluke demanded
to know why Penelope and Walter had not
availed themselves of that opportunity of edifying
themselves. Mrs. Charlewood looked nervous.
Augusta raised her eyes, and gave a little sigh,
intended to express the hopelessness of her
brother's and sister's spiritual condition.

"My sister Penelope prefers attending a place
of worship in our immediate neighbourhood. I
am unable to inform you why Walter did
not think fit to come with us," said Clement,
gravely.

"I'm going to Augusta's 'ouse with her,"
said Mrs. Charlewood. "She 'as asked me to
stay the night there, and Clement will call for
me to-morrow."

It was, in fact, Malachi Dawson who had
invited his wife's mother to accompany them
home; but poor Mrs. Charlewood was eager to
exhibit Augusta in an amiable light. The three
got into the carriage that was waiting.

"Can we set you down anywhere, Miss
Fluke?" asked Augusta, as the servant was
putting up the steps. Miss Fluke drew
herself up rigidly, shut her eyes very tight, opened
them very wide, shook her head violently, and
replied with emphasis:

"Oh no, thank you; oh dear no. Not on
any account whatever. I never ride in a coach
on the Lord's Day. 'Thy cattle,' you know,
Augusta. It's expressly mentioned. 'Thy
cattle,' and 'thy man-servant,' too, you recollect."

"Good-bye, mother," said Clement. "I will
come for you on my way home to-morrow."

"And, Clem dear," cried Mrs. Charlewood,
leaning out of the window,, and speaking very
earnestly, "don't, above all, forget to tell Watty
that I shall not be 'ome to-night."

"No, no, mother."

"Remember, love, you've promised."