"There is no doubt that they believe it," he said quietly. "It is best
to face facts."

"But if it should lead to trouble?" said Lady Eleanor.

"Wait till the trouble comes," he said, "and then send for me. You may
be sure that I shall come."

CHAPTER VI

The day of misfortunes brought about very much such results as Colonel
George had foreseen. Old Sally Dart, it is true, recovered, though she
was sadly shaken; and she declared, as soon as she could speak, that
she was not going yet awhile, not at any rate till she had heard the
full story of her Jan's death. But on the other hand the preacher's
cow did die, and as the preacher himself was but a small farmer of
eight or ten acres of land, the loss to him was very serious. Mrs.
Mugford, too, was thoroughly converted to belief in witchcraft by the
loss of her fowls; though since Tommy Fry's noise no longer disturbed
her, and her fowls were no longer numerous enough to make havoc of Mrs.
Fry's garden, she and Mrs. Fry lived for the present in comparative
peace. Hoping therefore to do something to destroy the belief in
witches and to soften the harsh feeling against them, Lady Eleanor
wrote to the parson to speak on the subject in next Sunday's sermon.

Her hopes, however, were not very great. There was no parson living in
the village, the parish being so small that it was joined to another
and served by an old, old man, who wore his hair in powder and droned
through one service only on Sundays in the little dark church at
Ashacombe. The congregation was always small, and perhaps the three
most enthusiastic members were Dick, Elsie, and the Corporal. For the
Corporal had inherited a violoncello, or as it was always called in the
village, a bass viol, from his father, and played it in the little
gallery along with the two violins, flageolet and bassoon that formed
the rest of the band. The notes that he could play were few, though
sufficient for the humble needs of the church, but the children had no
doubt that he was the finest performer in the world, and watched
anxiously for the minute when he should begin sawing away at the
strings, and the choir should break (very much through their noses)
into the anthem, "I will arise, I will arise and goo tu my va-ther,"
with which the service always began.

The old parson, though he did attempt to fulfil Lady Eleanor's wishes
in his sermon, only succeeded in being duller and longer than usual,
and neither Di