ile behind
his glasses. "You've built the wall," he said.

They had met by the churchyard gate, and Jeanie and Pat were having a
hopping race down the hill. Avery looked after them with a touch of
wistfulness. "But I wish she could have been away longer."

Tudor frowned. "Yes. Why on earth not? The Reverend Stephen again, I
suppose. I wish I had had your letter sooner, though as a matter of fact
I'm not in favour just now, and my interference would probably weigh in
the wrong balance. Keep the child out as much as possible! It's the only
way. She has made good progress. There is no reason at present why she
should go back again."

No, there was no reason; yet Avery's heart misgave her. She wished she
might have had longer for the building of that wall. Good Friday was more
or less a day of penance in the Vicar's family. It began with lengthy
prayers in the dining-room, so lengthy that Avery feared that Mrs.
Lorimer would faint ere they came to an end. Then after a rigorously
silent breakfast the children were assembled in the study to be
questioned upon the Church Catechism--a species of discipline peculiarly
abhorrent to them all by reason of the Vicar's sarcastic comments upon
their ignorance.

At the end of this dreary exercise they were dismissed to prepare for
church where there followed a service which Avery regarded as downright
revolting. It consisted mainly of prayers--as many prayers as the Vicar
could get in, rendered in an emotionless monotone with small regard for
sense and none whatever for feeling. The whole thing was drab and
unattractive to the utmost limit, and Avery rose at length from her
knees with a feeling of having been deliberately cheated of a thing she
valued. She left the church in an unwonted spirit of exasperation, which
lasted throughout the midday meal, which was as oppressively silent as
breakfast had been.

The open relief with which the children trooped away to the schoolroom
found a warm echo in her heart. She even almost smiled in sympathy when
Julian breathed a deep thanksgiving that that show was over for one
more year.

Neither Piers nor his grandfather had been in the church, and their
absence did not surprise her. She did not feel that she herself could
ever face such a service again. The memory of Piers at the organ came to
her as she dressed to accompany the children upon their primrosing
expedition, and a sudden passionate longing followed it to hear that
music again.