e sermon this morning," she went on,
untying her bonnet strings, and taking off that unassuming
head-gear--"It was just a homely simple, kind talk. Our parson's sorry
to be going away, but he hopes to be back with us at the beginning of
April, fit and well again. He's looking badly, poor soul! I felt a bit
like crying when he wished us all a bright Christmas and happy New Year,
and said he hoped God would allow him to see us all again."

"Who is going to take charge of the parish in his absence?" asked Reay.

"A Mr. Arbroath. He isn't a very popular man in these parts, and I can't
think why he has volunteered to come here, seeing he's got several
parishes of his own on the other side of Dunster to attend to. But I'm
told he also wants a change--so he's got some one to take his duties,
and he is coming along to us. Of course, it's well known that he likes
to try a new parish whenever he can."

"Has he any reason for that special taste?" enquired Reay.

"Oh yes!" answered Mary, quietly--"He's a great High Churchman, and he
wants to introduce Mass vestments and the confessional whenever he can.
Some people say that he receives an annual payment from Rome for doing
this kind of work."

"Another form of the Papal secret service!" commented Reay, drily--"I
understand! I've seen enough of it!"

Mary had taken a clean tablecloth from an oaken press, and was spreading
it out for dinner.

"Well," she said, smilingly, "he won't find it very advantageous to him
to take the duties here. For every man and woman in the village intends
to keep away from Church altogether if he does not give us our services
exactly as we have always been accustomed to them. And it won't be
pleasant for him to read prayers and preach to empty seats, will it?"

"Scarcely!"

And Angus, standing near the fire, bent his brows with meditative
sternness on the glowing flames. Then suddenly addressing Helmsley, he
said--"You asked me a while ago, David, why I didn't go to Church. I
told you I wished I could go, as I used to do with my father every
Sunday. For, when I was a boy, our Sundays were real devotional
days--our preachers _felt_ what they preached, and when they told us to
worship the great Creator 'in spirit and in truth,' we knew they were in
earnest about it. Now, religion is made a mere 'party' system--a form of
struggle as to which sect can get the most money for its own purposes.
Christ,--the grand, patient, long-suffering Ideal of all g