Deyncourt," as Ruth
appeared, "which church are you going to support--Greenacre, which is
close in more senses than one, where they never open the windows, and
the clergyman preaches for an hour; or Slumberleigh, shady, airy, cool,
lying past a meadow with a foal in it? If I may offer that as any
inducement, Molly and I intend to patronize Slumberleigh."

Ruth said she would do the same.

"Now, Dare, _you_ will be able to decide whether Greenacre, with a
little fat tower, or Slumberleigh, with a beautiful tall steeple, suits
your religious views best."

"I will also go to Slumberleigh," said Dare, without a moment's
hesitation.

"I thought so. I suppose,"--to Ralph and Evelyn--"you are going to
Greenacre with Aunt Mary? Tell her I have gone to church, will you? It
will cheer her up. Sunday is a very depressing day with her, I know. She
thinks of all she has done in the week, preparatory to doing a little
more on Monday. Good-bye. Now then, Molly, have you got your
prayer-book? Miss Deyncourt, I don't see yours anywhere. Oh, there it
is! No, don't let Dare carry it for you. Give it to me. He will have
enough to do, poor fellow, to travel with his own. Come, Molly! Is Vic
chained up? Yes, I can hear him howling. The craving for church
privileges of that dumb animal, Miss Deyncourt, is an example to us
Christians. Molly, have you got your penny? Miss Deyncourt, can I
accommodate you with a threepenny bit? Now, _are_ we all ready to
start?"

"When this outburst of eloquence has subsided," said Ruth, "the audience
will be happy to move on."

And so they started across the fields, where the grass was already
springing faint and green after the haymaking. There was a fresh
wandering air, which fluttered the ribbons in Molly's hat, as she danced
on ahead, frisking in her short white skirt beside her uncle, her hand
in his. Charles was the essence of wit to Molly, with his grave face
that so seldom smiled, and the twinkle in the kind eyes, that always
went before those wonderful, delightful jokes which he alone could make.
Sometimes, as she laughed, she looked back at Ruth and Dare, half a
field behind, in pity at what they were missing.

"Shall we wait and tell them that story, Uncle Charles?"

"No, Molly. I dare say he is telling her another which is just as good."

"I don't think he knows any like yours."

"Some people like the old, old story best."

"Do I know the old, old one, Uncle Charles?"

"No, Molly."