ch they
granted their subordinates.

He asked if anyone could tell him of suitable rooms.

"I am sorry," the Rector said, "not to be able to offer you the
hospitality of my own house, but the indisposition of my wife
unfortunately makes that impossible. I have naturally but a very slight
acquaintance with lodging-houses or lodging-house keepers; but Mr
Sharnall, I dare say, may be able to give you some advice. Perhaps
there may be a spare room in the house where Mr Sharnall lodges. I
think your landlady is a relation of our worthy friend Joliffe, is she
not, Mr Sharnall? And no doubt herself a most worthy woman."

"Pardon, Mr Rector," said the churchwarden, in as offended a tone as he
dared to employ in addressing so superior a dignitary--"pardon, no
relation at all, I assure you. A namesake, or, at the nearest, a very
distant connection of whom--I speak with all Christian forbearance--my
branch of the family have no cause to be proud."

The organist had scowled when the Rector was proposing Westray as a
fellow-lodger, but Joliffe's disclaimer of the landlady seemed to pique
him.

"If no branch of your family brings you more discredit than my landlady,
you may hold your head high enough. And if all the pork you sell is as
good as her lodgings, your business will thrive. Come along," he said,
taking Westray by the arm; "I have no wife to be indisposed, so I can
offer you the hospitality of my house; and we will stop at Mr Joliffe's
shop on our way, and buy a pound of sausages for tea."

CHAPTER TWO.

There was a rush of outer air into the building as they opened the door.
The rain still fell heavily, but the wind was rising, and had in it a
clean salt smell, that contrasted with the close and mouldering
atmosphere of the church.

The organist drew a deep breath.

"Ah," he said, "what a blessed thing to be in the open air again--to be
quit of all their niggling and naggling, to be quit of that pompous old
fool the Rector, and of that hypocrite Joliffe, and of that pedant of a
doctor! Why does he want to waste money on cementing the vaults? It's
only digging up pestilences; and they won't spend a farthing on the
organ. Not a penny on the _Father Smith_, clear and sweet-voiced as a
mountain brook. Oh," he cried, "it's too bad! The naturals are worn
down to the quick, you can see the wood in the gutters of the keys, and
the pedal-board's too short and all to pieces. Ah well! the organ's
like me--