egs, grey socks, and
imperfect but elephantine boots, and howling at the same time. The
preacher stopped short, the clerk had by this time worked his way down
from the gallery, and, collaring both the antagonists, hauled them out
into the churchyard, the triple stamping being heard on the pavement all
the way. The sermon was resumed and read to its conclusion. It was a
very good one, but immensely beyond the capacity of the congregation,
and Mary Carbonel had a strong suspicion that she had heard it before.

It was only on coming out that any notion could be gathered of the
congregation. There were a good many men and big boys, in smocks, a few
green, but most of them beautifully white and embroidered; their wearers
had sat without books through the whole service, and now came out with
considerable trampling.

The pews contained the young girls in gorgeous colours, the old women,
and the better class of people, but not many of them, for the "_petit
noblesse_" of Uphill were very "_petit_" indeed, in means and numbers;
but their bonnets were enormous, and had red or purple bows standing
upright on them, and the farmers had drab coats and long gaiters. The
old dames curtsied low, the little girls stared, and the boys peeped out
from behind the slanting old headstones and grinned. Some of them had
been playing at marbles on the top of the one square old monument, until
routed by Master Hewlett on his coming out with the two combatants.

Captain Carbonel had gone round to the vestry door to make acquaintance
with the clergyman, though Farmer Goodenough informed him in an audible
whisper, "He ain't the right one, sir; he be only schoolmaster."

And when the two met at the door, and the captain shook hands and said
that they would be neighbours, he was received with a certain hesitating
smile.

"I should tell you, sir, that I am only taking occasional duty here--
assisting. I am Mr Atkins. I have a select private academy at the
vicarage, which the President of Saint Cyril's lets to me. He is here
in the summer holidays."

"I understand. The curate lives at Downhill!" said Captain Carbonel.

"At the priory, in fact, with his father's family. Yes, it is rather an
unfortunate state of affairs," he said, answering the captain's
countenance rather than his words; "but I have no responsibility. I
merely assist in the Sunday duty; and, indeed, I advise you to have as
little to do with the Uphill people as possible