uld like to have me embroider anything for the church,
don't hesitate to ask me." She busied herself examining the stoles
again, and asked:

"How much did these things cost, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"I don't know. They were given to me by a friend of mine, when I
graduated from the Seminary."

"Hm! a friend of yours, eh? She must think an awful lot of you."

Hepsey gave Donald a sharp glance.

"I didn't say it was a lady."

"No, but your eyes and cheeks did. Well, it's none of my business, and
there's no reason that I know of why the Devil should have all the
bright colors, and embroideries, and things. Are you High Church?"

Maxwell hesitated a moment and replied:

"What do you mean by 'High Church?'"

"The last rector we had was awful high." Hepsey smiled with
reminiscent amusement.

"How so?"

"We suspected he didn't wear no pants durin' service."

"How very extraordinary! Is that a symptom of ritualism?"

"Well, you see he wore a cassock under his surplice, and none of our
parsons had ever done that before. The Senior Warden got real stirred
up about it, and told Mr. Whittimore that our rectors always wore
pants durin' service. Mr. Whittimore pulled up his cassock and showed
the Warden that he had his pants on. The Warden told him it was an
awful relief to his mind, as he considered goin' without pants durin'
service the enterin' wedge for Popish tricks; and if things went on
like that, nobody knew where we would land. Then some of the women got
talkin', and said that the rector practiced celibacy, and that some
one should warn him that the parish wouldn't stand for any more
innovations, and he'd better look out. So one day, Virginia Bascom,
the Senior Warden's daughter, told him what was being said about him.
The parson just laughed at Ginty, and said that celibacy was his
misfortune, not his fault; and that he hoped to overcome it in time.
That puzzled her some, and she came to me and asked what celibacy was.
When I told her it was staying unmarried, like St. Paul--my, but
wasn't she mad, though! You ought to have seen her face. She was so
mortified that she wouldn't speak to me for a week. Well, I guess I've
gossiped enough for now. I must go and make my biscuits for supper. If
I can help you any, just call out."

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III

THE SENIOR WARDEN

"It's a fine morning, Mr. Maxwell," Mrs. Burke remarked at breakfast
next day, "and I'm goin' to drive down to the vi