temple had been built about 1870 and was considered very
satisfactory. It was solid and free from draughts and took the central
heating very well. The graveyard also was new and shiny, with no bones
in it remoter than the memories of the present generation could
compass. The church clock was a very late addition--put up by
subscription five years ago-and its clamour was so up to date and smart
that it was a cross between the whistle of a steam-engine and a rich
and prosperous dinner-bell.

All this was rightly felt to be very satisfactory. As Miss Purves said:
"So far as the dear Church goes, no one had any right to complain about
anything."

When Maggie had first arrived in Skeaton her duties with regard to the
Church were made quite plain to her. She was expected to take one of
the classes in Sunday school, to attend Choir practice on Friday
evening, to be on the Committees for Old Women's Comforts, Our Brave
Lads' Guild, and the Girls' Friendly Society, to look after the flowers
for the Altar, and to attend Paul's Bible Class on Wednesdays.

She had no objection to any of these things-they were, after all, part
of her "job." She found that they amused her, and her life must be
full, full, full. "No time to think--No time to think," some little
voice far, far within her cried. But on Grace's return difficulties at
once arose. Grace had, hitherto, done all these things. She had, as she
called it, "Played a large part in the life of our Church." She was
bored with them all, the Choir practices, the Committees, the Altar
flowers, and the rest; she was only too pleased that Maggie should do
the hard work--it was quite fair that she, Grace, should have a rest.
At the same time she did not at all want to surrender the power that
doing these things had given her. She did not wish Maggie to take her
place, but she wanted her to support the burden-very difficult this
especially if you are not good at "thinking things out."

Grace never could "think things out." It seemed as though her thoughts
loved wilfully to tease and confuse her. Then when she was completely
tangled, and bewildered, her temper rose, slowly, stealthily, but with
a mighty force behind it; suddenly as a flood bursts the walls that
have been trying to resist it, it would sweep the chambers of her mind,
submerging, drowning the flock of panic-stricken little ideas.

She then would "lose her temper" so much to her own surprise that she
at once decided that