to play until nearly five. Now, don't go tugging at
my coat-collar, or I won't say another word." Elizabeth, with a
resigned expression, folded up her work. "I left the vicarage note,"
continued Cedric, mollified by this submission. "Mr. Charrington was
engaged, but Mrs. Finch brought me his message--his kind regards to
Miss Templeton, and he would have much pleasure in dining at the Wood
House to-night."

"Did you tell Dinah?"

"Do I not always do my duty?" rather sententiously, "Well, before I
could get to the White Cottage I met old David. He was going to the
church to practise on the organ, and he was a bit bothered because he
could not get any one to blow, so, being a good-natured chap, I
volunteered."

"Good boy," observed Elizabeth softly.

"Well, there we were for pretty nearly an hour and a half--David
perched up like a glorified cherubim, and rolling out music by the
yard; and there was I grinding away like a saintly nigger in a beastly
hole till I could stand it no longer, and told him I must chuck it. He
declared he had quite forgotten me."

"I expect he had. Mr. Carlyon plays the organ so
beautifully"--Elizabeth was addressing Malcolm now. "My sister and I
often go into the church to listen to him."

"It must be a great resource," he returned regretfully, "and I am
inclined to envy Carlyon. I am passionately fond of music myself, but
the power of expression has been denied me."

"I would back David against most organists," went on Cedric. "Well, as
I was pretty much used up by my exertions, he proposed we should go
into the vicarage garden and help ourselves to fruit. The greengages
were ripe and so were the mulberries, and you bet I did not need
pressing."

"Mrs. Finch saw us from the porch room, and sent us out some cider and
home-make cake, so we had a rattling good feed. David said he was in a
loafing mood, and would not hear of my hurrying away."

"Mr. Carlyon does not seem overworked," remarked Malcolm; but he
regretted his speech when he saw Elizabeth's heightened colour.

"Thursday is a slack day with him," she said rather gravely. "I assure
you he works harder than most clergymen, and is very conscientious and
painstaking. He is not at all strong, but he never spares himself."

"My hasty speech meant nothing," returned Malcolm smiling. "Mr. Carlyon
is certainly no loafer--he looks the incarnation of energy."

"How doth the little busy D--
Improve each shining hour,"