vocal abilities made him very Protestant
indeed. And the charge of Popery against
Mr. Levincourt was supposed to be a very
colourable and serious one, seeing that he
had a foreign wife.

However, Time went on in his task of
turning "new-fangled" things into old-
fangled. And the congregation of St.
Gildas had long grown very proud of their
singing. Miss Desmond had a class of
village children to whom she taught some
of the mysteries contained in the queer
black-headed hieroglyphics on the musical
staff; and the choir met to practise every
Saturday afternoon. And on this one
special Saturday afternoon in February,
Mr. Levincourt having floundered through
the thick mud of the lane, arrived at the
school-house door, turned the handle, and
walked in, when the practising was just
over.

The children were making ready to troop
out. Some of the little boys, uneasy under the
stern glance of Mr. Mugworthy, the parish
clerk, still sat on the wooden benches, from
which their corduroy-clad legs dangled and
swung, as unrestingly as the pendulum of
the big white-faced clock that ticked away
the hours above the door.

At a little deal-cased harmonium sat
Herbert Snowe, the son of a rich
Danecester banker. This young gentleman had
been educated in Germany, where he had
caught a taste for music. His dilettanteism
was strong enough to induce him to make
the journey from Danecester nearly every
week, in order to supply, at the Saturday
rehearsals, the place of the professional
organist, who was only engaged to come
to Shipley for the Sunday services.

Not far from him, stood Mr. Plew,
the village doctor, talking to the vicar's
daughter. Mr. Plew had the meekest and
weakest of high tenor voices, and gave the
choir the benefit of his assistance whenever
his professional avocations would permit
him to do so.

Then, there were Kitty and Cissy
Meggitt, with their governess, Miss Turtle.
Mrs. Meggitt was of an aspiring nature,
and had prevailed on her husband to
engage a "real lady" to teach her girls
manners. Farmer Meggitt paid the "real
lady" five-and-twenty pounds per annum,
and he thought in his heart that it was an
exorbitantly high price for the article.

Then, there were Captain ami Mrs. Sheardown,
of Lowater House. They did not
sing; but they had come to fetch their
son, Master Bobby Sheardown, who sat
on a high school-bench among the
"trebles."

Lastly, there was Maud Desmond.

"Good evening," said the vicar, walking
into the room.

Immediately there was a shuffling and
scraping of feet. Every boy slid down
from his bench, and drew each one a
hobnailed boot noisily over the bare floor in
homage, raising at the same time a bunch
of sunburnt knuckles to his forehead. The
little girls ducked down convulsively, the
smaller ones assisting themselves to rise
again with an odd struggling movement of
the elbow.

This was the ceremony of salutation to a
superior among the rustic youth of Shipley.

"How have you been getting on,
Herbert?" said Mr. Levincourt. "How do
you do, Mrs. Sheardown? Captain, when
I saw that the West Daneshire were to
meet at Hammick, I scarcely expected to
have the pleasure of seeing you this
evening!"

"No; I didn't hunt to-day," answered
the captain.

Captain Sheardown was a broad-shouldered
man of some five-and-fifty years of
age. His bluff face was fringed with white
whiskers. His eyes were surrounded by a
network of fine lines, that looked as though
they had been graven on the firm skin by
an etching-needle, and he generally stood
with his legs somewhat wide apart, as one
who is balancing himself on an unsteady
surface.

The gentlemen gathered together into a
knot by themselves while they waited for
the ladies to put on their warm shawls and
cloaks.

"I wonder what sort of a run they had
with the West Daneshire?" said Herbert
Snowe.

"I heard, sir, as there were a accident
on the field," said Mr. Mugworthy, who
had edged himself near to the group of
gentlemen.

"An accident!" repeated the vicar.
"What was it? Nothing serious, I trust?"

"No, sir; from what I can reap out of
the rumour of the boy, Sack, it warn't a
very serious accident. Jemmy Sack, he
seen it, sir. It happened close up by his
father's farm."

"Sack's farm, eh?" said Captain Sheardown.
"Why that's at Haymoor!"

"Well, sir, it is:" rejoined Mr.
Mugworthy, after a moment's pause, as though
he had been casting about in his mind for
some reasonable means of contradicting