this
knight of the ferrule, who for twenty-seven years acted as pedagogue to
this tiny hamlet? What good had he done in his world? Had he realized
his life's ambition? Into many of the congregation now worshipping
yonder he must have driven the three R's, possibly with the assistance
of the faithful ferrule aforesaid, yet how many of them gave a thought
to his memory! In this case the assertion that he "rested from his
labours" was a trifle ambiguous. Consigning poor Erasmus to oblivion, I
continued my walk. Presently my eyes caught an inscription that made me
halt again. It was dedicated to the "Loving Memory of William Kitwater,
and Susan, his wife." I was still looking at it, when I heard a step on
the gravel-path behind me, and turning round, I found myself standing
face to face with Miss Kitwater. To use the conventional phrase, church
had "come out," and the congregation was even now making its way down
the broad avenue towards the high-road.

"How do you do, Mr. Fairfax?" said Miss Kitwater, giving me her hand as
she spoke. "It is kind indeed of you to come down. I hope you have good
news for us?"

[Illustration: "'HOW DO YOU DO, MR. FAIRFAX?' SAID MISS KITWATER."]

"I am inclined to consider it good news myself," I said. "I hope you
will think so too."

She did not question me further about it then, but asking me to excuse
her for a moment, stepped over the little plot of ground where her dear
ones lay, and plucked some of the dead leaves from the flowers that grew
upon it. To my thinking she was just what an honest English girl should
be; straight-forward and gentle, looking the whole world in the face
with frank and honourable simplicity. When she had finished her labour
of love, which only occupied her a few moments, she suggested that we
should stroll on to her house.

"My uncle will be wondering what has become of me," she said, "and he
will also be most anxious to see you."

"He does not accompany you to church then?"

"No," she answered. "He is so conscious of his affliction that he cannot
bear it to be remarked. He usually stays at home and walks up and down a
path in the garden, brooding, I am afraid, over his treatment by Mr.
Hayle. It goes to my heart to see him."

"And Mr. Codd?"

"He, poor little man, spends most of his time reading such works on
Archaeology as he can obtain. It is his one great study, and I am
thankful he has such a hobby to distract his mind from his own trouble."

"T