nd the churchyard,
and now entered the opened door of the building.

He mechanically pursued his way round the piers into his own seat in
the north aisle. The lower atmosphere of this spot was shaded by its own
wall from the shine which streamed in over the window-sills on the
same side. The only light burning inside the church was a small tallow
candle, standing in the font, in the opposite aisle of the building to
that in which Manston had sat down, and near where the furniture was
piled. The candle's mild rays were overpowered by the ruddier light from
the ruins, making the weak flame to appear like the moon by day.

Sitting there he saw Farmer Springrove enter the door, followed by his
son Edward, still carrying his travelling-bag in his hand. They
were speaking of the sad death of Mrs. Manston, but the subject was
relinquished for that of the houses burnt.

This row of houses, running from the inn eastward, had been built under
the following circumstances:--

Fifty years before this date, the spot upon which the cottages
afterwards stood was a blank strip, along the side of the village
street, difficult to cultivate, on account of the outcrop thereon of a
large bed of flints called locally a 'lanch' or 'lanchet.'

The Aldclyffe then in possession of the estate conceived the idea that
a row of cottages would be an improvement to the spot, and accordingly
granted leases of portions to several respectable inhabitants. Each
lessee was to be subject to the payment of a merely nominal rent for
the whole term of lives, on condition that he built his own cottage, and
delivered it up intact at the end of the term.

Those who had built had, one by one, relinquished their indentures,
either by sale or barter, to Farmer Springrove's father. New lives were
added in some cases, by payment of a sum to the lord of the manor, etc.,
and all the leases were now held by the farmer himself, as one of the
chief provisions for his old age.

The steward had become interested in the following conversation:--

'Try not to be so depressed, father; they are all insured.'

The words came from Edward in an anxious tone.

'You mistake, Edward; they are not insured,' returned the old man
gloomily.

'Not?' the son asked.

'Not one!' said the farmer.

'In the Helmet Fire Office, surely?'

'They were insured there every one. Six months ago the office, which had
been raising the premiums on thatched premises higher for some years,
g