d bright waistcoats.
And there were liberal touches of crimson toward the chancel, for
the pulpit and Mr. Donnithorne's own pew had handsome crimson cloth
cushions; and, to close the vista, there was a crimson altar-cloth,
embroidered with golden rays by Miss Lydia's own hand.

But even without the crimson cloth, the effect must have been warm and
cheering when Mr. Irwine was in the desk, looking benignly round on
that simple congregation--on the hardy old men, with bent knees and
shoulders, perhaps, but with vigour left for much hedge-clipping and
thatching; on the tall stalwart frames and roughly cut bronzed faces of
the stone-cutters and carpenters; on the half-dozen well-to-do farmers,
with their apple-cheeked families; and on the clean old women, mostly
farm-labourers' wives, with their bit of snow-white cap-border under
their black bonnets, and with their withered arms, bare from the elbow,
folded passively over their chests. For none of the old people held
books--why should they? Not one of them could read. But they knew a
few "good words" by heart, and their withered lips now and then moved
silently, following the service without any very clear comprehension
indeed, but with a simple faith in its efficacy to ward off harm and
bring blessing. And now all faces were visible, for all were standing
up--the little children on the seats peeping over the edge of the grey
pews, while good Bishop Ken's evening hymn was being sung to one of
those lively psalm-tunes which died out with the last generation of
rectors and choral parish clerks. Melodies die out, like the pipe of
Pan, with the ears that love them and listen for them. Adam was not in
his usual place among the singers to-day, for he sat with his mother
and Seth, and he noticed with surprise that Bartle Massey was absent
too--all the more agreeable for Mr. Joshua Rann, who gave out his bass
notes with unusual complacency and threw an extra ray of severity into
the glances he sent over his spectacles at the recusant Will Maskery.

I beseech you to imagine Mr. Irwine looking round on this scene, in his
ample white surplice that became him so well, with his powdered hair
thrown back, his rich brown complexion, and his finely cut nostril and
upper lip; for there was a certain virtue in that benignant yet keen
countenance as there is in all human faces from which a generous soul
beams out. And over all streamed the delicious June sunshine through the
old windows, wit