ul clothes against their neighbours' lovely raiment in the pews.

The unlucky ones stood in rows in the side aisles, just as their
commoner sisters stand in rows upon the pavement edge to watch some
passing show.

Some, less hindered by superfluous adipose tissue, had managed to seat
themselves upon the tomb of one Sir William de Tracy, who had one time
unduly concerned himself in the murder of a certain Thomas a Becket.

Indeed he built this church in atonement for his unseemly conduct,
though something seems to have gone agley in the architectural penance,
as the ghost of Sir William is to be met o' nights upon the sands of
Woolacombe--so 'tis said.

Some of the still younger fry among the spectators, I mean worshippers
in this solemn ceremony, clasped the heads in effigy of dead squire, or
dame, or knight, in order to get the necessary purchase for the task of
pulling themselves up for just one second in the supreme attempt to
catch a glimpse of the principals in the parade.

Except for the setting of this beautiful house of God it might have
been an _entr'acte_ at some theatrical first night; same comments upon
actors and audience; same criticism upon dress and morals; same yawning
and fidgeting.

What _had_ they not suffered and sacrificed to flatter the vulgar old
millionaire! Anyway they expected a good deal in return for the
excruciating journey down by rail or car, the whole day lost out of the
season in London town, _and_ the wedding present.

Unless you own the genuine thing in rank or reputation, how
_frightfully_ difficult it is to send an astute vulgar old millionaire
the one present which will open his doors to you.

If you do own the genuine thing, an electro-plated toast-rack will be
all-sufficient. If you _don't_, well it's simply no good worrying
around the bottom rung of the ladder which he has climbed, and from the
top of which he sits making faces of derision at you.

The principal performers had just disappeared into the vestry as the
old clock chimed twelve, and Jan Cuxson, swinging back the churchyard
gate, strode up the narrow tomb-lined path to the church door.

Every woman turned to look at him as he passed.

"Look at 'e now, Mrs. Ovey! He be staying with me. Did 'ee iver zee
sich a butivul face. Jist like a picture. Sit 'ee still, young
Gracie, an' doan 'ee walk over thikee graves, now! I tell 'ee 'e'd
make a proper bridegroom, 'e wud!"

"Iss, I reckon! 'Er 'av done mig