t to evoke a word or a smile from
the new mistress of the farm.

Rachel Henderson frowned slightly before replying.

"Yes, I have been in Canada."

"You have? Oh, then, you know all about it."

"I know nothing about Canadian lumbering."

"You were on the prairies?"

"I lived some time on a prairie farm."

"Everything here must seem very small to you," said the vicar
sympathetically. But this amiable tone fell flat. Miss Henderson still
sat silent. The vicar began to feel matters awkward and took his hat from
the floor.

"I trust you will call upon me for any help I can possibly be to you," he
said, turning to Janet Leighton. "I should be delighted to help in the
harvest if you want it. I have a pair of hands anyway, as you see!" He
held them out.

He expatiated a little more on his disappointment as to the front. Janet
threw in a few civil words. Rachel Henderson had moved to the window, and
was apparently looking at the farm-girls carrying straw across the yard.

"Good-night, Miss Henderson," said the young man at last, conscious of
rebuff, but irrepressibly effusive and friendly all the time. "I hope you
will let your Ralstone girl come sometimes to the clubroom my sister and
I have in the village? We feel young people ought to be amused,
especially when they work hard."

"Thank you, but it's so far away. We don't like them to be out late."

"Certainly not. But in the long evenings--don't you know?" The vicar
smiled persuasively. "However, there it is--whenever she comes she will
be welcome. And then, as to your seat in church. There is a pew that has
always belonged to the farm. It is about half-way up."

"We don't go to church," said Rachel, facing him. "At least, I don't."
She looked at her companion.

"And I can't be counted on," said Janet, smiling.

The vicar flushed a little.

"Then you're not Church of England?"

"I am," said Rachel indifferently; "at least I'm not anything else. Miss
Leighton is a Unitarian." Then her eyes lit up with a touch of fun, and
for the first time she smiled. "I'm afraid you'll think us dreadful
heathens, Mr. Shenstone!"

What the vicar did think was that he had never seen a smile transform a
face so agreeably. And having begun to smile, Rachel perversely continued
it. She walked to the gate with her visitor, talking with irrelevant
animation, inviting him to come the following day to help in the
"carrying," asking questions about the village and its people, an