l two miles from Linstowe, with the squat church-tower, beautifully
untouched, and ruined by the perfect restoration of the body of the
building, they had trooped in; some even coming from the shore of the
Atlantic, a mile beyond, across the downs, whence other upland square
church-towers could be viewed on the sky-line against the grey January
heavens. The occasion was in a sense unique, and its piquancy
strengthened by that rivalry which is the essence of religion.

For there was no love lost between Church and Chapel in Trover, and the
rector's flock had long been fortified in their power of 'parting' by
fear lest 'Chapel' (also present that day in court) should mock at his
impecuniousness. Not that his flock approved of his poverty. It had
seemed 'silly-like' ever since the news had spread that his difficulties
had been caused by a faith in shares. To improve a secure if moderate
position by speculation, would not have seemed wrong, if he had not
failed instead, and made himself dependent on their butter, their
potatoes, their eggs and chickens. In that parish, as in others, the
saying 'Nothing succeeds like success' was true, nor had the villagers
any abnormal disposition to question the title-deeds of affluence.

But it is equally true that nothing irritates so much as finding that
one of whom you have the right to beg is begging of you. This was why
the rector's tall, thin, black figure, down which a ramrod surely had
been passed at birth; his narrow, hairless, white and wasted face, with
red eyebrows over eyes that seemed now burning and now melting; his
grizzled red hair under a hat almost green with age; his abrupt and
dictatorial voice; his abrupt and mirthless laugh--all were on their
nerves. His barked-out utterances, 'I want a pound of butter--pay you
Monday!' 'I want some potatoes--pay you soon!' had sounded too often in
the ears of those who had found his repayments so far purely spiritual.
Now and then one of the more cynical would remark, 'Ah! I told un _my_
butter was all to market.' Or, 'The man can't 'ave no principles--he
didn't get no chicken out o' me.' And yet it was impossible to let him
and his old mother die on them--it would give too much pleasure 'over
the way.' And they never dreamed of losing him in any other manner,
because they knew his living had been purchased. Money had passed in
that transaction; the whole fabric of the Church and of Society was
involved. His professional conduct, t