ill confess to anything less than a whole soul, everybody
in Pullingham laughs or cries immoderately whenever Mr. Johnson gives
way to recitations.

And last, but not least, there is always Sarah Martin, the leader of
the village choir, and the principal feature in it, whose strong if
slightly ear-piercing soprano must prove her worthy of a new organ.

To the vicar's intense chagrin, Dorian Branscombe is absent,--has,
indeed, been up in town since the day before Georgie Broughton's
arrival, now a fortnight old.

Dorian would have been such a comfort! Not that he sings, or plays, or
fiddles, or, indeed, does anything in particular, beyond cajoling the
entire neighborhood; but that, as it happens, is, in this case,
everything. To cajole, to entreat, to compel the people to come in and
fill the empty benches, is all the vicar would require at his hands.

And Dorian could do all this. No one ever refuses him anything. Both
old women and young women acknowledge his power, and give in to him,
and make much of him, and hardly feel the worse because of their
subservience,--he having a little way of his own that makes them
believe, when they have been most ignominiously betrayed into saying
"yes" to one of his wildest propositions, he has been conferring a
favor upon them, more or less, for which he is just too generous to
demand thanks.

But this invaluable ally is absent. The vicar, in the privacy of his
own sanctum,--where no one can witness the ungodly deed,--stamps his
feet with vexation as he thinks on this, and tells himself he is
unlucky to the last degree, and acknowledges a worth in Dorian
Branscombe never learned before!

Clarissa is perfectly delighted with the whole idea, and somewhat
consoles him by her ready offers of assistance, and her determination
to step into the absent Dorian's shoes and make love to the county in
his stead.

She persists in calling it the "first concert of the season," which
rather alarms the vicar, who is depressed by his wife's
prognostications of failure, and sees nothing but ruin ahead. She
declares her intention of publishing it in all the London papers, and
offers the whole of the winter conservatories to decorate the
school-house (where it is to be held), so that those accustomed to the
sight of its white and somewhat barren walls will fail to recognize it
in its new-born beauty.

"Then, shall we name the 4th as the day?" says the vicar, with some
trepidation. It is now th