opalians lacked the Westminster Catechisms as a means of
intellectual gymnastic. So far, therefore, they were handicapped, and
indeed reduced to the mere persistent assertion that they, and they
alone, were the apostolic Church, and if any out of their communion were
saved, it must only be by the uncovenanted mercies of God.

Yet, though not within the sacred triangle of gentility (as it was known
in Eden Valley), of which the manse, the General's bungalow, and the
residence of Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe occupied the three angles, my
grandmother was the first caller upon the lonely children in the great
house of Marnhoul.

I shall never forget her indignation when I went in to the dairy and
told her in detail what had happened--of the forcing of the gates, and
the firing upon the back windows. My grandfather, seated within doors,
in his great triangular easy-chair at his own corner of the wide
fireplace, looked up and remarked in his serene and far-off fashion that
"such proceedings filled him with shame and sorrow."

The words and still more the tone roused my grandmother.

"William Lyon," she said, standing before him in the clean middle of the
hearth which she had just been sweeping, and threatening him with the
brush (she would not have touched him for anything in the world, for she
recognized his position as an elder). "Hear to ye--'shame and sorrow'!
Aye, well may ye say it. Had I been there I would have 'sinned and
sorrowed' them. To go breaking into houses with swords and staves, and
firing off powder and shot--all to frighten a pair of poor bairns!
Certes, but I would have sorted them to rights--with tongue, aye, and
with arm also."

And at this point Mary Lyon advanced a step so fiercely and with such
martial energy, that, well inured as my grandfather was to the generous
outbursts of his wife, he moved his chair back with a certain alacrity.

"Mary," he remonstrated, "Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe was with them. So at
least I understand, and also Mr. Kettle, who is a Justice of the
Peace--these in addition to the constable----"

He got no further. My grandmother swooped upon the names, as perhaps he
expected. It was by no means the first time that, in order to draw off
the hounds of his wife's wrath, he had skilfully drawn a red herring
across the trail.

"Shepstone--Shepstone!" she cried, "a useless, daidling body! What was
he ever good for in this world but to tie his neckcloth and twirl his
cane? Oh aye,