of conscience and do not hate chapels," Osborn
rejoined. "For all that, I own to a natural prejudice against people who
attend such places, largely because they mix up their religious and
political creeds. It would be strange if I sympathized with their plans
for robbing the landlords."

"Anyhow, Drysdale means to bring his flock, and I'm afraid you'll have to
pay. The situation has some humor."

Osborn knitted his brows. Hayes had been talking to him about the estate
accounts and he had resolved to practise stern economy. Economy was
needful, unless he gave a fresh mortgage to pay the interest on his other
debts; and here was an expense he had not bargained for.

"If I'd known about Drysdale, I'd have resigned," he said. "I took the
post again because there was nobody else."

"They might have tried Askew," Gerald suggested.

"Askew? A fellow of no importance, unknown outside the dale!"

"I imagine he'll be better known soon, and he's rather a good sort. Gave
me a very good lunch not long since and has obviously spent something on
the farm. His room is like a museum, and he has a number of valuable
things. Seems to have had some adventures abroad, and found them
profitable."

"You mean he tried to impress you by vague boasting?"

"No," said Gerald, "I don't think he did; the fellow's not that kind. In
fact, he's rather good form, and has somehow got the proper stamp."

Grace looked at her brother, as if she agreed; but Osborn remarked
ironically, "You imagine yourself a judge?"

"Oh, well," said Gerald, smiling, "I've had the advantage of being
brought up at Tarnside, and belong to a good London club. Anyhow, Askew's
much less provincial than some of our exclusive friends."

He strolled off and Osborn went to the library, where he spent some time
studying his accounts. The calculations he made were disturbing and he
resented the possibility of his being forced to help Drysdale's fund.
Nevertheless, the president of the show would be expected to lead the
bidding and the Osborns did things properly.

A week or two afterwards, Mrs. Osborn opened the show in a field by the
market-town, which stood in a hollow among the moors. The grass sloped to
a river that sparkled in the sun and then vanished in the alders' shade.
Across the stream, old oak and ash trees rolled up the side of the Moot
Hill, and round the latter gray walls and roofs showed among the leaves.
A spire and a square, ivy-covered tower rose above