he earth, and the little side windows
looked out into a ditch. There were two steps to go down into the deep
porch, and within there seemed to be small space between the roof and
the top of the high square pew into which they were ushered by Master
Hewlett, who, it seemed, was the parish clerk.

They saw little from it, but on one side, hung from the roof a huge
panel with the royal arms, painted in the reign of William and Mary, as
the initials in the corners testified, and with the lion licking his
lips most comically; on the other side was a great patch of green damp;
behind, a gallery, full of white smock-frocked men with their knees
thrust through the rails in front. Immediately before them rose the
tall erection of pulpit, the fusty old cushion and tassels, each faded
to a different tint, overhanging so much that Dora could not help
thinking that a thump from an energetic preacher would send it down on
Edmund's head in a cloud of dust. There was the reading-desk below,
whence the edges of a ragged Prayer-book protruded, and above it
presently appeared a very full but much-frayed surplice, and a thin worn
face between white whiskers. The service was quietly and reverently
read, but not a response seemed to come from anywhere except from Master
Hewlett's powerful lungs, somewhere in the rear, and there was a certain
murmur of chattering in the chancel followed by a resounding whack.
Then Master Hewlett's head was seen, and his steps heard as he tramped
along the aisle and climbed up the gallery stairs, as the General
Thanksgiving began, and there he shouted out the number of the Psalm,
"new version," that is, from Brady and Tate, which every one had bound
up with the Prayer-book. Then a bassoon brayed, and a fiddle squealed,
and the Psalm resounded with hearty goodwill and better tone than could
have been expected.

Master Hewlett stayed to assist in the second singing, and the children,
who sat on low forms and on the chancel step, profited by it to make
their voices more audible than the Commandments, though the clergyman
had not gone to the altar, and once in the course of the sermon, Captain
Carbonel was impelled to stand up and look over the edge of the pew,
when he beheld a battle royal going on over a length of string, between
a boy in a blue petticoat and one in a fustian jacket. At the unwonted
sight, the fustian-clad let go, and blue petticoat tumbled over
backwards, kicking up a great pair of red l