subject of the little
vineyard which the wicked king coveted. When he described himself as
Naboth, it could not but be supposed that Ahab and Jezebel were both
in Bullhampton. It went forth through the village that Mr. Puddleham
had described Mrs. Fenwick as Jezebel, and the torch of discord had
been thrown down, and war was raging through the parish.

There had come to be very high words indeed between Mr. Grimes and
Mr. Puddleham, and some went so far as to declare that they had heard
the builder threaten to punch the minister's head. This Mr. Grimes
denied stoutly, as the Methodist party were making much of it in
consequence of Mr. Puddleham's cloth and advanced years. "There's no
lies is too hot for them," said Mr. Grimes, in his energy, and "no
lawlessness too heavy." Then he absolutely refused to put his hand to
a spade or a trowel. He had his time named in his contract, he said,
and nobody had a right to drive him. This was ended by the appearance
on a certain Monday morning of a Baptist builder from Salisbury, with
all the appurtenances of his trade, and with a declaration on Mr.
Grimes' part, that he would have the law on the two leading members
of the Puddleham congregation, from whom he had received his original
order. In truth, however, there had been no contract, and Mr.
Grimes had gone to work upon a verbal order which, according to the
Puddleham theory, he had already vitiated by refusing compliance with
its terms. He, however, was hot upon his lawsuit, and thus the whole
parish was by the ears.

It may be easily understood how much Mr. Fenwick would suffer from
all this. It had been specially his pride that his parish had been at
peace, and he had plumed himself on the way in which he had continued
to clip the claws with which nature had provided the Methodist
minister. Though he was fond of a fight himself, he had taught
himself to know that in no way could he do the business of his
life more highly or more usefully than as a peacemaker; and as a
peacemaker he had done it. He had never put his hand within Mr.
Puddleham's arm, and whispered a little parochial nothing into his
neighbour's ear, without taking some credit to himself for his
cleverness. He had called his peaches angels of peace, and had spoken
of his cabbages as being dove-winged. All this was now over, and
there was hardly one in Bullhampton who was not busy hating and
abusing somebody else.

And then there came another trouble on the