LI B RARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N IVER51TY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 C92LB
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 At least, not rotting like a weed. 
 But having sown some generous seed 
 Fruitful in fuither thought and. deed." 
 
 Tejwyson's " Two Voices: 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HEXRY COLBURN, 
 13, GREAT MAELBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1865. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY JLVCDGNALD AND TUGAA^ELL, BLENTIEIM HOUSK, 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 
 ;«•■••.•■•;•"";•■•••. • ».■*.'■ ■•••.■'».':.•■••'»■'■ 
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TOWN OF SADBOROUGH AND THE CONVENT 
 OF ST. CATHERINE. 
 
 rrpIE small town of Sadborougli is situated 
 in one of our western counties. A tra- 
 , veller approaching the town from the east, 
 ^would probably miss the beautiful meadow 
 Jjlands and rich pastures of Hampshire ; or one 
 .^coming in the other direction, the long green 
 planes, with theii' mossy banks and ovcr-arcli- 
 .i VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 ing trees, running from one to another oi 
 the little hamlets of thatched cottages which 
 make so picturesque the lovely land of Devon, 
 Yet Sadborough has many advantages ana 
 beauties of its own — its proximity to the sea 
 in one direction, and to high breezy downs in 
 another, make it peculiarly healthy ; and there 
 are not wanting, even in its immediate neigh- 
 bourhood, many of those sweet rustic villages 
 and little leafy nooks which are so peculiarly 
 characteristic of our island. 
 
 Although so far from London, the little 
 town has always managed to keep pace pretty 
 fairly with the rest of the world ; and the 
 many comfortable-looking brick-built houses 
 in the town, and the number of gentlemen's 
 villas in the neighbourhood, prove that the 
 trade carried on has been a tolerably successful 
 one. 
 
 On entering the town from the London
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 3 
 
 road, the first object of interest that meets 
 the eye is the ruin of a convent. It was one 
 of the very earliest built in Britain ; but of the 
 original edifice no stone has been left for many 
 centuries. It has, however, been rebuilt 
 several times, and that building of which the 
 ruin is now standing, was erected in the time 
 of Henry the Seventh ; and falling somewhat 
 into decay during the reign of his successor, 
 was restored when England was under the 
 sway of the first Mary. The beautiful chapt4, 
 still the most perfect part of the ruin, though 
 its only roof is now the blue vault of heaven, 
 was then repaired and beautified, and again 
 used for the performance of mass. 
 
 The river Sad, from which the town takes 
 its name, washes the walls of the convent, 
 and then runs on by the side of a beautiful 
 avenue of English poplars ; through which a 
 road leads, from that part where was once 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the convent door, to an arched gateway that 
 was the entrance to the grounds. 
 
 Ever on the night when the moon is at the 
 full, the people of Sadborough relate that a 
 female figure, clad in a black dress, with a 
 long white veil falling over her head and 
 shoulders, emerges from the convent door, 
 and walking hastily down the avenue, is at 
 length lost to sight amidst the trees on the 
 other side of the gateway. 
 
 The coachman of the royal mail, in the days 
 when that was the only conveyance, would 
 point with his whip at the convent, showing 
 the place to his passengers ; and if there was 
 one on the box by his side who had been an 
 agreeable companion by the way, and who 
 was willing to hear the story, would relate 
 his version of the legend of the White Lady. 
 Most decidedly would he state he had often 
 seen her himself ; but they were always chang-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 5 
 
 iiig the time of the coach. When it came in 
 late, he had shown her to very many. Some 
 said she went to meet her lover, and some 
 that she did not like the convent, and went 
 out on purpose to drown herself — he thought 
 that the most likely. But whatever were the 
 rights of it, for certain she was drowned in 
 the river, and for certain she walked still 
 every night of the full moon. But the reader 
 must have a clearer account of the legend than 
 that given by the coachman. 
 
 In the old days, says the story, a powerful 
 vassal of the King of Wessex had a beautiful 
 daughter, called Bertha. In some way she met, 
 and, as the consequence of meeting, fell in 
 love with Earl Wolfstan, a wealthy nobleman 
 allied to the King of the East Angles, who 
 was on his part deeply enamoured of the fair 
 lady. The feuds between the monarchs, how- 
 ever, prevented the course of true love from
 
 6 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 running smooth ; and her father, finding out 
 their attachment, immured his daughter in 
 tlie convent of St. Catherine. But Cupid 
 laughs at bars and bolts. Through some crevice 
 even in the monastery wall was a note con- 
 veyed to the Lady Bertha, informing her that 
 on the night of the full moon the Earl 
 Wolfstan, in a swan-necked vessel manned 
 with stout sailors, would be waiting for her at 
 the mouth of the Holy Brook, as the river 
 was then called. 
 
 As there was no ghost to terrify her in 
 those days, punctually at the hour appointed 
 she went. How she escaped the vigilance of 
 the old Abbess, how she defied the lynx-eyed 
 watching of the nuns, with what she bribed 
 the porter at the gate, the history does not 
 inform us ; but down the poplar avenue, 
 through the arched gateway, and across the 
 raised pathway through the marsh, which
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 7 
 
 was in those days the thoroughfare, on she 
 went, undeterred by any thought of danger, 
 and arrived at the time appointed at the 
 mouth of the Holy Brook. Wearily did she 
 strain her eyes looking for the vessel of her 
 lover, anxiously did she wait for his arrival, 
 hour after hour did she pace up and down the 
 shore ; but, at last, whether in despair at what 
 she thought his desertion she threw herself 
 in, or whether, in her distress, she accidentally 
 walked into the river, is unknown; but certain 
 is the fact, she was drowned in its dark 
 waters. 
 
 Some fishermen, in the morning, found the 
 body of a nun, with a long white veil, floating 
 on the water, and carried her to the convent ; 
 it was the body of the Lady Bertha. The 
 nuns were assured that the Evil One in person 
 had decoyed away their sweet sister, and 
 drowned her in the Holy Brook, which never
 
 « THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 after that day was known by any other name 
 than the Sad. 
 
 Earl Wolfstan came with his vessel the next 
 day ; he had unhappily been detained by con- 
 trary winds ; putting off as soon as the morn- 
 ing broke, and returning again with the set of 
 the sun, for three long nights did he watch 
 for the coming of the Lady Bertha. At 
 length, believing that her love was not equal 
 to the trial he had laid on it, he sailed away 
 and married some other damsel. But (the 
 legend continues) he heard in some manner 
 of her fate, and desire for revenge brooded 
 deeply in the bosom of the impious earl. 
 After awhile he collected together a few ships; 
 and naming his own after his lost love, he 
 landed one night at the mouth of the river, 
 and, with his followers, attacked the convent, 
 laying it in ruins, and sparing only the chapel 
 for the sake of the grave of the Lady Bertha.
 
 THE CURATE OF SaDBROOKE. \) 
 
 Carrying off some of the nuns, lie and his com- 
 panions regained their ships. But vengeance 
 suffered not the sacrilegious noble to escape. 
 The south-west wind, the terror of sailors on 
 the south coast then as much as now, arose 
 in its mighty power; and the Avild waters en- 
 gulphed alike the destroyers and their help- 
 less prey, delivering the nuns from the grasp 
 of those wild chiefs, and sending Earl Wolfstan 
 and those who had joined in the sinful work 
 to the destruction they had so truly earned. 
 
 Such is the old tale, and should any reader 
 of these pages ever chance to be turning over 
 the leaves of Domesday Book, and there find 
 the place mentioned, it will be under the name 
 of " The Convent of St. Catherine, by the 
 Stream of the Holy Brook.'' But it has seen 
 many changes since those days. Several of 
 the nuns who resided there in the reign of 
 Queen Mary, left after the accession of Eliza-
 
 10 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 betli. Still, shorn as tliey were of many 
 privileges, a few lingered on till the time of 
 Cromwell. Then a party of his Ironsides 
 entered the convent, laid violent hands on the 
 possessions of the unhappy nuns, feasting on 
 the provisions of the well-filled larder, drain- 
 ing the cellar of its choice wines, and dividing 
 among themselves the contents of the money 
 chest; while many a nun, with her long white 
 veil floating behind her, was seen that night 
 of the full moon flying in terror down the 
 poplar avenue. 
 
 In mere wantonness the troopers drove 
 their swords and the butt-ends of their 
 muskets through the beautiful painted windows 
 of the chapel, and stalled their horses within 
 the precincts of the high altar. Then it was 
 that Serjeant Simon Scatter- the- Wolves, 
 having, according to his own language, torn 
 down the statues of Baal and Ashtoreth, and
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 11 
 
 swept the convent with the besom of destruc- 
 tion, finally completed what the Royalist party 
 called a piece of wanton mischief, and many 
 an act of villainous sacrilege, but what he 
 styled the work of the Lord, by preaching to his 
 troop standing on the Lady Bertha's grave, 
 with an open Bible in one hand, and a loaded 
 pistol in the other. 
 
 The Convent of St. Catherine may be seen 
 in many an exquisite painting ; it is still a 
 favourite subject for the sketch-book of the 
 artist. The love of the Earl's daughter was 
 the theme of more than one ballad of the 
 olden time. " The Woes of Lady Bertha, 
 or the Legend of the Sad," may still be heard 
 in song and story from the people of the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Even Serjeant Simon Scatter- the-Wolves 
 had no power to scatter the vision of the Lady 
 Bertha. Many of his troop declared they saw
 
 12 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 her even while he was preaching ; and the 
 evidence given of her presence on the follow- 
 ing full moon was most satisfactory. Often- 
 times have strangers endeavoured to assure 
 the townspeople that there is nothing to be 
 seen but the moonlight playing amid the 
 branches of the trees ; but "" as he who's con- 
 vinced against his will, is of the same opinion 
 still," the ghost of the White Lady still takes 
 her moonlight walk down the avenue, and 
 will probably continue to do so for many a 
 long year to come. Indeed, with the exception 
 of a few new-comers, the inhabitants of Sad- 
 borough would as soon think of allowing a 
 depredator to deprive them of some piece of 
 valuable personal property, as permit a 
 stranger to take away their visionary posses- 
 sion of the White Lady. 
 
 After passing the convent, the road con- 
 tinues straight on to the town. The entrance
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 13 
 
 is through a narrow tortuous street^ but this 
 gradually widens, and the High Street of 
 Sadborough, both as regards width and 
 length, is a very respectable thoroughfare. 
 Gn the right side stands the church, a fine 
 Gothic edifice, and opposite to it is the Town- 
 Hall, with a handsome clock over the en- 
 trance. 
 
 A busy place is the High Street of Sad- 
 borough on a market-day ; the pavements on 
 each side covered with stalls, butchers show- 
 ing their prime beef and mutton, cheesemen 
 in their snow-white frocks praising their " blue 
 vinny," and their tubs of butter, stalls of 
 ready-made clothes, one or two of cakes, with 
 perhaps a few toys ; and in the summer the 
 addition of some shrubs and flowers. But 
 still busier is it in the days of the great cattle 
 fairs, when the streets are full of horses and 
 cattle, and prime flocks of the black-faced
 
 14 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 South Downs, and droves of fearfullj-scream- 
 ing pigs, add to what seems almost inextri- 
 cable confusion. 
 
 Plenty of work is there then for the buxom 
 mistress of the "Blue Boar," to provide 
 dinner for the sturdy farmers ; and plenty 
 of work for the ostler to look after the 
 farmers' nags, with which the stable is thronged; 
 a good deal of money changes hands in those 
 days ; and then the farmers return home, 
 somewhat jovial, as they consider the proper 
 thing on fair-day ; and then the little town 
 relapses into its usual quiet state. 
 
 But the whole town is not so wealthy-look- 
 ing as the High Street. There are many 
 other parts — long back lanes, short side streets 
 leading to them, courts and alleys innumer- 
 able. 
 
 They have strange names for some of these 
 streets — there is Fivefinger Street, so called
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 15 
 
 because five other streets branch from it ; 
 these are Duck Lane, Rogues Roost, Spin- 
 ning Alley, Wolfs Road — supposed to be that 
 Earl Wolfstan took in his landing — and Lady's 
 Lane, where the road once went through the 
 marshes. 
 
 There are some rope-walks in the town, 
 and several factories for the manufacture of 
 twine. At the doors of many of the houses 
 and small shops may be seen little square 
 frames, on which the twine is wound. 
 
 On the whole, Sadborough is a bustling, 
 active town, diflfering little from many others 
 in the county ; its only distinguishing feature 
 being the ruined convent and chapel of St. 
 Catherine, and the faith of its inhabitants in 
 the vision of the White Lady.
 
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 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT FAIRLEIGH. 
 
 A BOUT five o'clock on the afternoon of a 
 Christmas Eve, some thirty years ago, a 
 knot of people might have been seen collecting 
 around the " Blue Boar," the principal inn, 
 situated in the High Street of Sadborough. 
 It was the hour for the coming in of the 
 London coach — for there were no rails thirty 
 years ago ; and quite an event in the day was 
 the arrival of the one coach, or rather mail, 
 Avhich brought passengers, letters and parcels, 
 eatables, fashions, books, papers, and what- 
 not, to the good people of Sadborough.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 1 7 
 
 Round the door of the inn were congre- 
 gated ostlers waiting to change the horses ; 
 porters on the look-out for a job ; gentlemen's 
 servants, some belonging to the town, and 
 others who had ridden in from the country, 
 waiting for the hampers of turkeys, barrels of 
 oysters, and other good things which were 
 sure to be sent by town friends, in preparation 
 for the Christmas dinner. 
 
 There were many loungers there, of all 
 classes : people who went to look at the coming 
 in of the coach, and then went home again ; 
 they did not expect it to bring anything to 
 them, but it was something to do. Unless they 
 were ill, or something very particular came in 
 the way ( and with such sort of people there 
 is very rarely anything in the way), they 
 would come again on the morrow. 
 
 Among the group were three nice gentle- 
 manly-looking boys, of ages varying from 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 fourteen to about ten. These were Cecil, Guy, 
 and Frank, sons of Hugh Knightly, Esq., of 
 Fairleigh House, Sadborough, and magistrate 
 for the county. 
 
 As the clock struck the half hour, true to its 
 time almost to a minute the horn was heard, 
 and a few minutes after the coach, drawn by 
 four greys (screws, doubtless, according to A. 
 K. H. B. — that most entertaining of essayists), 
 drove up at a slashing pace to the door of the 
 inn. The coachman dismounted, rolling under 
 the weight of his heavy capes, and beating his 
 arms to unstiffen them, went in to w^arm him- 
 self at the bright fire that shed a ruddy glow 
 across the road. The passengers followed 
 his example ; the horses were quickly un- 
 fastened by the nimble hands of the well-ac- 
 customed ostlers ; boxes and hampers were 
 taken down, and others put up, giving abun- 
 dant employment to the porters ; four new
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 19 
 
 horses, three bays and a black this tune, but 
 no doubt still screws, though they looked very 
 fresh, each pawing the ground, impatient to be 
 off, were harnessed in ; then the coachman 
 came out, the guard blew the horn, once and 
 again, before he could induce the lingering 
 passengers once more to face the cold ; and then 
 the coach rattled away again over the paved 
 street, to visit other places, to take up and 
 set down more passengers, more bags of letters 
 and more parcels — and so on, until the people 
 from London to Land's End had received 
 either their friends or their turkeys, as the 
 case might be. 
 
 Two of the gentlemen, however, who 
 alighted at the '^ Blue Boar," had arrived at 
 their journey's end, and were seized on im- 
 mediately with great delight by the three boys 
 just named. The younger, a fine young man 
 of perhaps one-and-twenty, had been sitting 
 
 c2
 
 20 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 on the coach-box ; and to say truth it was he, 
 and not the coachman, who brought the 
 greys up in such dashing style that evening ; 
 but coachee knew they were safe enough in 
 the hands of Hugh Knightly, to whom he 
 had first given the ribbons himself some years 
 before, when he took him backwards and 
 forwards to school, and who was sure to give 
 him a handsome tip for the sake of " auld 
 lang syne." 
 
 The other gentleman had been sitting just 
 behind him, and was perhaps five or six years 
 older. They both shook hands heartily with 
 the boys, who overpowered them with ques- 
 tions, which they answered as best they could 
 while looking after their luggage. Presently, 
 however, a hand was laid on each shoulder, 
 and looking round there was more shaking of 
 hands, and more greetings, warm enough to 
 keep ofi" the chill that frosty night.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 21 
 
 The new comer was James Knightly, the 
 eldest brother of Hugh and the boys. By his 
 dress it was evident he was a clergyman. He 
 was rather a little man, at least he looked so 
 by the side of his brother Hugh and his friend, 
 who were neither much under six feet. But 
 it will be better to see them all by the light of 
 something brighter than that of the oil lamps 
 which then illuminated the High Street of Sad- 
 borough, before attempting to describe any 
 of the party. They all walked quietly away 
 together. 
 
 " We have a beautiful ashen faggot to- 
 night in the hall, Hugh," said Cecil; ''I 
 saw it lighted, and it will be burning up by 
 the time we get home." 
 
 " You mustn't keep dinner waiting, either 
 of you," said Guy ; "we dine at six, and we 
 are all to dine with you to-day." 
 
 " No, we must be sure not to be late/'
 
 22 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 chimed in Frank ; ^' for the choir from Sad- 
 brooke are having tea at our house ; and 
 after dinner they are to come into the hall 
 and sing, and see the ashen faggot, and have 
 minced pie and mulled wine — won't it be 
 jolly?" 
 
 " Alice has been trying to get my choir 
 into something like order for me, Hamilton," 
 said the young clergyman — ** the singing was 
 so bad at Sadbrooke ; but they have improved 
 greatly under her care, and in some things 
 acquit themselves now quite creditably." 
 
 " And Maude Wilmot helps Alice, Hugh," 
 said Cecil. '' I like to hear Maude sing ; and 
 we have all of us been helping, too, since we 
 left school." 
 
 '^ That must have improved them wonder- 
 fully," replied his brother ; "if they are not 
 first-rate after your instruction, it must be a 
 hopeless case."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 23 
 
 ^^ I can sing, Hugh ; and I have been 
 practising duets with Maude ; and we have 
 been dressing up Jem's church — it looks quite 
 lovely ! I got almost all the berries ; and we 
 don't any of us think he knows altogether 
 what we have been doing, he is always so 
 busy — but it has been great fun !" 
 
 " They would never have got on without 
 you, Cecil, that is clear. James will have 
 no singing at church when you go back to 
 school; he will have to shut it all up to- 
 gether, such an invaluable help as you must 
 have been." 
 
 " You ain't a bit more steady, Hugh, for 
 all the hard reading you talk of. I don't 
 much believe in it myself — but here we are 
 at home. I hope dinner's ready — I know I 
 am." 
 
 The servant threw open the hall door as 
 their steps were heard, and they all entered ;
 
 24 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 and then came more shaking of hands, more 
 Christmas greetings, and one rather shy but 
 not the less affectionate welcome ; for Hamil- 
 ton had been engaged to Alice Knightly for 
 some months, and was now looked upon as 
 quite one of themselves by all the family at 
 Fairleigh. 
 
 However, the welcomes were obliged to 
 be very short, for the young men had to 
 change their travelling-dress ; and as they 
 went upstairs to do so, Mr. Knightly called 
 after them to beg they would not keep dinner 
 waiting, as they must not be late, on account 
 of the singers. 
 
 A very happy dinner it was — all the family 
 collected together ; the only additions to the 
 party being Maude and Annie Wilmot, near 
 neighbours, who had been so much with the 
 young Knightlys from childhood, that no 
 meeting was ever considered perfectly happy
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 25 
 
 unless they were present. And now, as we 
 have them all together, it will not be a bad 
 time to give the reader some idea of the 
 people he has been brought amongst. 
 
 At the bottom of the table sat the father, 
 a gentlemanly-looking man, somewhat past 
 middle age ; and at the top, the fragile, 
 gentle mother, whose cup of happiness, as she 
 glanced at those bright faces that evening, 
 was full. Next to her was Hamilton, a man 
 of heavier build and quieter manners than 
 any of the Knightly s, yet with the stamp 
 of very high intellect on his lofty broAv ; one 
 who enjoyed a joke very dearly in his own 
 way, but who in repartee was no match for 
 the volatile beings around him. He was a 
 barrister, and far from a briefless one ; and 
 now that the start was made, there was every 
 prospect of his soon gaining a name even in 
 a profession where learning and talent are no
 
 26 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 rare things. He was decidedly handsome, 
 of fair complexion, and with regular features. 
 He was of Scotch extraction ; and although 
 his family had lived many years in England, 
 he still betrayed his origin in his grave 
 manner, and perhaps also in his looking some- 
 what older than he really was, Avhich was just 
 five-and-twenty. 
 
 Next him sat Alice, a dark-browed maiden 
 of eighteen, with black hair, and long almond- 
 cut eyes with dark sweeping lashes. A fair share 
 of the beauty of the family had fallen, as was 
 right, to the portion of the only daughter. 
 Hugh was a remarkably fine young man ; 
 not actually handsome, but very far from 
 otherwise. He was reading for the bar, and 
 Hamilton, whose opinion was looked up to 
 by them all, reported him as doing very 
 well indeed. 
 
 The three boys were fine open-counte-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 27 
 
 nanced lads, all strikingly alike, and Cecil 
 decidedly good-looking, with an eye that 
 flashed mischief at every glance, though it 
 sometimes possessed the deep thoughtful look 
 so remarkable in that of his brother James. 
 But the "parson," as the boys called him, 
 has yet to be described. As has been already 
 said, he was not nearly so tall a man as his 
 brother Hugh ; but he had a firm, compact, 
 lithe figure that spoke of strength and great 
 powers of endurance. He was undoubtedly 
 handsome ; but he was more than that. The 
 face was of the highest intellectual and, 
 indeed, spiritual type. The forehead was 
 high, full, and rather stern, or at least would 
 have been so, had it not been softened by 
 the deep earnest eye, and the exquisite smile 
 that sometimes, not always, played around 
 the mouth. Such were the Knightlys, much 
 like many others, far from faultless, far from
 
 28 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 perfect, yet, with clever heads and warm 
 hearts, a fair specimen of a happy English 
 family. 
 
 They had, as Frank said, " a jolly even- 
 ing." The ashen faggot burnt splendidly in 
 the wide, open hearth of the hall, and they all 
 stood admiring the beautiful forms into which 
 the burning logs fell — arches, avenues, 
 chui'ches, towers, and whatever their young 
 imaginations liked to picture. 
 
 Have you ever seen it burnt, my reader ? 
 If not, it is worth coming into the west coun- 
 try to have a look at. I mean the real thing, 
 as it is still to be seen in some gentlemen's 
 houses, and in old farm-house kitchens, a 
 relic of the old times. 
 
 And how the village choir did enjoy 
 themselves, and how really well they sung, 
 greatly to the delight of James and Alice, 
 who had been looking forward to the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 29 
 
 performance with no little anxiety ; and 
 whose clear voices mingled with the 
 rustic ones of their pupils, greatly to 
 the improvement of the fine old tunes to 
 which the Christmas hymns and carols were 
 set. Christmas wishes were interchanged, 
 a Christmas blessing asked by the young 
 clergyman, and then the singers went back 
 to their village homes, the family party 
 separated, the ashen faggot died out, and 
 Christmas Eve past away softly, and gently, 
 giving place to the yet more blessed time 
 of the Christmas morning. The Christmas 
 chimes rang out from the tower of Sad- 
 borough Church before it was well light, 
 and they were never late people at Fair- 
 leigh. 
 
 Hugh volunteered to go over with James 
 to Sadbrooke ; and though his brother, as 
 yet rather new to preaching, felt more at
 
 30 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 home with only his country audience than 
 when any of his own family were present, 
 he could not say nay, and Cecil and Guy 
 accompanied them. 
 
 As the curate walked up the aisle, he 
 saw for the first time the Christmas decora- 
 tions. It had always been the custom to 
 dress up tlie church, and this year his 
 sister had offered to superintend and assist 
 at the arrangements. 
 
 In former days these consisted of wreaths 
 of evergreens, hung heavily round the pillars, 
 and of large bunches of laurustinas and 
 monthly roses, which, when the winter was 
 not a severe one, were always to be procured 
 from the sheltered gardens of Sadbrooke, 
 tied in front of the pulpit and reading- 
 desk. He had never thought of the matter 
 himself, but when his sister spoke to him 
 about it he thought it very kind of her to
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 31 
 
 interest herself in liis church ; and, besides, she 
 said Maude Wilmot would help her, and, to 
 say truth, Maude was very dear to the heart 
 o£ James Knightly. So he thanked her, and 
 accepted her offer, only stipulating that there 
 should be no symbols that the people might 
 not understand, and which might offend their 
 prejudices ; and then, being very busy just at 
 that time, he actually forgot all about the 
 matter. When, therefore, on emerging from 
 the vestry this Christmas morning, he saw 
 the festive appearance put on by the old church, 
 he was greatly surprised and extremely 
 pleased. 
 
 The old-fashioned adornments had been 
 superseded by pretty light twining wreaths of 
 evergreens, and over the communion-table 
 was a small cross of red berries, resting on 
 green leaves of holly. From the reading-desk 
 he saw the Christmas text over the opposite
 
 32 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 gallery, " Glory to God in the highest, and 
 on earth peace, good-will towards men." It 
 was done in laurustinas and roses. There was 
 a wreath of laurustinas on the font, and that 
 was all. 
 
 He was very much gratified ; it was just 
 what he liked ; there was nothing about it like 
 the decorations of a theatre, but the church 
 wore the festive look that was so suitable to 
 the season — and that in the cold wintry 
 weather made it seem, as it were, an emblem 
 of happiness and brightness, a refuge from the 
 chill that was without. 
 
 But the service commenced, and he soon 
 again forgot the decorations. Hugh had 
 never heard his brother either read prayers 
 or preach before, and he was greatly struck 
 with the power of his rich musical voice ; and 
 in the sermon the idea came to him that if he 
 possessed a share of James's talent, he could
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 66 
 
 not fail to get on at the bar. But it was not 
 easy to listen to the Curate of Sadbrooke, 
 even young as he then was, without becoming 
 interested in the subject on which he was 
 speaking. And yet it was all very simple; there 
 was no display of learning — it would have 
 been terribly out of place, but the very sim- 
 plicity was the charm, it gave the hearer such 
 a belief in the reality of what he was saying, 
 as he implored his people to remember the 
 sacredness of the time, kept in memory of that 
 day when the Holy Child was born at Beth- 
 lehem, the offering for the world's sins. 
 
 After service, Hugh and the boys returned 
 home, and Hugh said to Cecil, 
 
 ** Jem will be a fine preacher some day, 
 he reads uncommonly well. I hope he won't 
 stay down here long, he ought to get a curacy 
 in London, and he'd soon get on then." 
 
 " The people listen to him though, Hugh, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 as if they liked to hear him ; and Fm sure they 
 must understand what he says, he makes it 
 all so plain ; and he seems very happy here. 
 It must be a great thing to stand up in a 
 pulpit, and have people hang on your words. 
 I shouldn't care to be an indifferent preacher, 
 but if I could do the thing as well as Jem 
 does, I should like to be a clergyman very 
 well." 
 
 ^' Jem wouldn't think much of you as a 
 clergyman, if that is all you wish to be one for; 
 he would tell you that sort were not wanted; 
 he has got very high ideas of what a clergy- 
 man works for. I am very glad I took to 
 the Bar, it suits me better, and I felt to- 
 day in a way I never did before, what a 
 solemn thing it must be to enter the Church. 
 If any one takes it up merely for a pro- 
 fession, or to have people hang upon their 
 words, they had better let it alone. That
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 35 
 
 is my idea, and I advise you to think so too, 
 Cecil." 
 
 " The cross looked very pretty, I thought," 
 said Cecil ; "I picked all the berries, and 
 Maude made it. I looked so to see if Jem 
 noticed it. I think he did." 
 
 ^' It does you all great credit — it looked 
 wonderfully different from what it did one 
 Christmas when I went once before ; but the 
 great difference after all was in the preaching 
 — it seemed like getting through a task de- 
 cently then, it was reality now." 
 
 The curate did not return with his brothers 
 — he waited for the afternoon service, and he 
 was glad of a walk by himself. Only or- 
 dained a few months before, he had already 
 become deeply interested in his work, and 
 felt only far more intensely what Hugh had 
 said to Cecil, that to have entered the Church 
 merely as a profession would indeed have 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 
 
 been a very awful thing. He undertook the 
 charge of the village of Sadbrooke with the 
 deep feeling that it was a very sacred trust — 
 the most solemn that can be undertaken. 
 And now, amid manv failino^s and much weak- 
 ness, he was endeavouring earnestly to devote 
 life and soul to Him whom he called Master. 
 
 The dinner at Fairleigh was much like that 
 of the evening before : all meeting round the 
 table, and the evening passed away with music 
 and singing, principally sacred, out of de- 
 ference to the young clergyman, whom they all 
 loved too dearly not to try and please as 
 much as they could. Not, as they would say, 
 were they by any means sure he was always 
 right. Of course they were not, or they 
 would have been more like him. And so 
 passed Christmas at Fairleigh. 
 
 f^Sf^
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN DUCK LANE. 
 
 r^EOM the description that has ah^eady 
 been given of Sadborough, the reader 
 must have become aware that in that town, 
 as in most others, there were a number of 
 streets and lanes little known to the wealthier 
 inhabitants, and rarely visited by any of 
 the higher classes. Perhaps some lady, 
 having promised her cook she would send 
 up the chimney sweep, found herself, be- 
 fore she was aware, in a region quite un- 
 known to her, although she had lived for
 
 38 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 many years within a quarter of a mile of 
 the spot. Or the child of the woman who 
 washed for her laundress had fallen into the 
 fire, and she thought she would go and 
 inquire if any help was needed; or her 
 occasional charwoman was laid up with the 
 rheumatism, a common complaint in Sun 
 Court, and she wished to take her some 
 flannel. These or other like reasons took 
 a lady occasionally into the lower parts of 
 the town. 
 
 True, there was the district visitor — hut she 
 Avas not so common thirty years ago as 
 at present ; and there was also the clergy- 
 man — but he was far too well known to 
 excite any attention. He belonged to them 
 in a measure, they considered ; but as to 
 other ladies and gentlemen, they were out 
 of their sphere ; and if any passed, the in- 
 habitants of these regions all came out to
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 39 
 
 their doors to look, and to criticise dress 
 and manners, and appearance altogether. 
 
 And now for a description, as far as can 
 be given, of Duck Lane. It was a mere 
 cul-de-sac opening out of Fivefinger Street; 
 but, as in every depth there is a lower 
 depth still, from one side of Duck Lane 
 opened Sun Court — the windows and doors 
 of the eligible residences in which locality, 
 opening as they did within three feet of 
 the high wall of a factory, allowed little 
 of that luminary to be seen, from which 
 cause the name was probably given in 
 passing ridicule, and had stuck to it ever 
 since. 
 
 But house rent was cheap in Sun Court. 
 You could get two fair-sized rooms for 
 eighteenpence a week ; the same accommo- 
 dation would have cost two shillings in 
 Duck Lane. To be sure, it cost something
 
 40 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 in candles, but they were considered some- 
 thing in the way of luxuries, at least they 
 could be dispensed with when work was 
 not plentiful ; so Sun Court was rarely 
 empty of tenants. Not always advantageous 
 tenants, certainly, they had moonlight flit- 
 tings sometimes, when a neighbour thought 
 some one was ill next door, but found 
 instead in the morning that the family had 
 left. They could not pay tlieir rent, so 
 they went away without ; but the land- 
 lord was pretty sharp, and did not lose 
 much, on the whole. 
 
 On one side, the best side of Duck Lane, 
 opposite Sun Court, the houses had back 
 doors and gardens — rather dirty little gardens, 
 but cabbages would grow in them, though 
 they were sometimes a little sooty, for there 
 was a large iron-foundry near. These gardens 
 had steps that led down to a slimy pond.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 41 
 
 which, when the Sad was fiill^ as was 
 generally the case, was full also ; but when, 
 in hot summer weather, the Sad was low, 
 this piece of land, covered with water, was 
 neither altogether land nor water, but a piece 
 of marshy ground, with pools thickly scattered 
 over it, wherein frogs croaked and newts 
 abounded. There were frogs and newts, 
 lizards also, in those days ; the various species 
 must be surely almost dying out now, the 
 demand for the interesting creatures having 
 been so great for the stocking of vivariums. 
 For as a crystal palace on the hall-table of 
 a house like Fairleigh (where, doubtless, 
 Frank Knightly's children have got them 
 now), does not appear to suit their constitu- 
 tions so well as the slime and smell of a pond 
 like that in Duck Lane, they require con- 
 stant replenishing, which must end, in time, 
 in their destruction, unless the taste for
 
 42 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 them dies out, as it is not unlikely it will. 
 
 There was a passage — a drainway it was 
 the fashion to call it — between two of these 
 houses, with steps also leading down to the 
 water, so that the inhabitants of the opposite 
 side of the street, and those of the neigh- 
 bouring localities, might also have the benefit 
 of this nice supply. And very convenient 
 they all said it was for w^ashing, though most 
 of them preferred getting their drinking water 
 from a shoot in Fivefinger Street. 
 
 Sadborough is much improved, however, 
 since those days — the pond has been drained, 
 the railway station now stands upon its site, 
 there is no longer any Sun Court or Duck 
 Lane, the rails are laid down through those 
 places ; and very sorry were many of the 
 tenants to leave, and altogether objected to 
 the alteration. The Sad now runs on, clear 
 and pure, to the sea, the town is lighted with
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 43 
 
 gas, and its inhabitants consider it one of 
 the nicest and healthiest towns in England ; 
 but that is nothing new, they always had 
 the same opinion .of it. 
 
 But Christmas comes once a year alike to 
 the dwellers in Sun Court and Duck Lane, 
 as to their more favoured brethren in parks 
 and halls ; and the Christmas chimes that 
 aroused the Knightlys from their slumbers 
 awoke also the family of the Martins in Duck 
 Lane. 
 
 Job and Nanny Martin were honest, hard- 
 working people, with a very large family to 
 maintain, and they did their best to fill 
 the mouths of the clamorous little ones with 
 food. They were a very large family : there 
 was Jack the eldest boy, and Sally the 
 biggest girl, and Tom, and Dick, and Suky, 
 and Joe, down to the wee toddling Alexander, 
 and the baby in arms, Alethea. For it is
 
 44 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 generally noticeable, in these large families, 
 that the length of the names is in inverse 
 proportion to the size of the children, the 
 elder ones resting content with those of one 
 or two syllables in length, while the baby 
 usually rejoices in something almost un- 
 pronounceable, and which, as a matter of 
 course, is pronounced wrong. It is like the 
 nomenclature of shells — the names of the 
 large ones are generally of moderate length, 
 whereas the tiny moluscs receive appellations 
 of at least five or six syllables in length. 
 Job — it surely was a good name for him — 
 was an honest, industrious man, with just 
 knowledge enough to get on with his work 
 as a day-labourer ; and Nanny's acquire- 
 ments consisted of being able to wash and 
 mend, and occasionally clean the house. 
 '' She was a bad manager," said the lady 
 visitor, who went once a week as duty- work
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 45 
 
 into what she called her " district." I wonder 
 whether any of us, or even the lady visitor 
 herself, would have done better under her 
 circumstances. 
 
 *^ I gets on wi' my washing, ma'am," she 
 would say, ^^ as airly as I can in the week ; 
 but some of 'em be very short, and their 
 things very plain, and I wash for they arter 
 they's in bed ; there's three as I w^ash for 
 every Saturday night, but they all goes to 
 school and church Sunday morning, and Job 
 goes to church pretty reg'hir, and I goes when 
 I can." 
 
 Yes, perhaps she was a bad manager, I 
 scarcely know, but the fact was this, the 
 pressure from without was so much stronger 
 than the power of resistance from within, 
 that the family balloon, instead of careering 
 high in the air, to the admiration of all 
 beholders, with colours waving and flags
 
 46 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 flying, was generally lying in the gutter in 
 a state of collapse. 
 
 With all her endeavours, Nanny could 
 never overtake her work, the feeding of 
 such a hungry set, and the keeping tidy a 
 lot of reckless boys who walked through 
 mud and mire in their new boots, when they 
 had any, and climbed palings and apple- 
 trees, to the destruction of trousers and 
 pinafores, was altogether too much for her. 
 So, although Job worked hard, and Sally 
 and Jack both nearly earned their own 
 maintenance, still rags were in the ascendant, 
 and Nanny was pronounced '* a decidedly bad 
 manager." 
 
 There were great preparations for Christ- 
 mas at the Martins'. Nanny had pinched 
 all the family for weeks to screw out enough 
 to buy a piece of pork, which that morning 
 Sally might have been seen taking, with
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 47 
 
 great pride, in a brown dish, to the bake- 
 house. There were plenty of potatoes in 
 the dish, and some cabbages, cut out of the 
 garden, were to be cooked at home. There 
 was to be a pudding, but Nanny said she 
 should keep that for supper. They were all 
 busy, very busy, Christmas morning ; there 
 was too much to be done for any of them 
 to think of going to church. Job cut the 
 cabbages, Suky washed them, Sally peeled 
 the potatoes. Jack cleaned the three knives 
 that constituted the family stock of cutlery, 
 and Nanny thought, as she superintended 
 the whole, and finally set the dinner on the 
 table, what hard work it must be to be 
 cook in a gentleman's family, where they 
 had meat every day, and puddmgs on Sun- 
 days. 
 
 The arrival of the dinner was hailed by 
 a scream of delight from all the younger
 
 48 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 children, Tvhich was quickly changed into 
 a cry of grief from Alexander, when he was 
 not allowed to make himself master of the 
 whole joint ; but order was restored after 
 a little while, and they all sat down very 
 hot and tired to dinner. 
 
 But overworked and overfed as they 
 certainly were that day, the father and most 
 of the family went to chuixh in the after- 
 noon, the mother stayed at home with a 
 sick bov and the vounorer children — it was 
 very rarely she could go out. After church 
 they walked down to Sadport, the harbour 
 of Sadborough, and distant about half a mile. 
 
 There was both export and import trade 
 from this little place ; the Sadborough people 
 made nets and cordage, and sent them to 
 Newfoundland, and received in return oil, 
 and salted cod, and ling, of which they were 
 all amazingly fond. It did not pay badly,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBEOOKE. 49 
 
 this Newfoundland trade, and in a small way 
 Sadport was a busy place. It was rather 
 an old-fashioned place — there were such funny 
 old wooden piers ; running far into the sea, 
 they looked quite worm-eaten and unsafe, 
 green slimy weeds grew all round their sides, 
 and if you walked on the top there were 
 holes, through which you might have fallen. 
 Kound the sides, uncovered at half-tide, were 
 narrow ledges, slippery with the green weeds. 
 It was the great delight of the boys, and the 
 girls, too, for the matter of that, to walk 
 on these little ledges, all round the piers, 
 far into the deep water. It was a wonder 
 they were not drowned oftener than they 
 were, for accidents rarely happened ; but 
 children are like cats, they must have nine 
 lives, and certainly claws to keep their foot- 
 ing, as they do in such strange places. 
 
 Another entertainment was to take a row 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 on the water. Whenever there was anything 
 of a holiday, there were always boats ready, 
 with boys to row them, into which the 
 children crowded, paying either a penny or a 
 halfpenny, according to the distance they 
 went. It seemed rather fearful to a stranger 
 to see the boats so deep in the water ; but 
 no person of the place could remember an 
 accident ever having happened. 
 
 Christmas was rather a cold time of year 
 for this diversion ; but the day was fine, and 
 there were boats ready, so all the young 
 Martins went out, and enjoyed it very 
 much. 
 
 There were several large stores at Sadport, 
 tilled up with goods — cordage, twine, nets, 
 oil tubs, timber, coals, and salt fish ; on 
 several of them was chalked up the notice, 
 '^ Salt fish, three halfpence a pound !" Some 
 of the people who owned these stores were
 
 THE CUKATE OF SADBKOOKE. 51 
 
 wealthy traders. Fortunes have been made 
 before now by selling things of even less 
 value than three halfpence a pound. 
 
 The largest of these stores bore the name 
 of Gain and Twine, merchants of Sadborough. 
 They were wealthy people, landed proprie- 
 tors, too ; the whole of Fivefinger Street, 
 with the adjacent properties of Duck Lane 
 and Sun Court, were the freehold of Mr. 
 Gain. But Mr. Gain possessed another free- 
 hold besides this, a very pretty gentleman's 
 house, called Woody Knoll, distant about 
 a mile from Sadborough. There were shrub- 
 beries and gardens at Woody Knoll, men- 
 servants also and maid-servants, a carriage 
 and fine horses — and, more than all this, 
 they were very nice people at -Woody Knoll. 
 But the dwellings of the poor vrere not 
 much thought about thirty years ago. 
 Many people do not care about such mat- 
 
 liOfl^ 
 
 :>- 1^ 1 \HV^^
 
 52 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 ters now ; still, on the whole, things are 
 better than they were then. 
 
 Mr. Twine had property also. Rogues 
 Roost and Spinning Alley were his. He 
 had also a very comfortable brick house in 
 the town. He was a wealthy man; but the 
 Twines were not such well-educated or 
 pleasant people in any way as the Gains. 
 But, on the whole, the firm was liked and 
 much respected in the town. 
 
 The young Martins wandered about, en- 
 joying themselves extremely, and came home 
 very hungry to tea ; and after tea, Job, 
 according to his usual custom (miserable 
 custom), went to the " Goose and Gridiron," 
 in Fivefinger Street. Nanny begged him 
 to come home for the pudding ; he pro- 
 mised he would, but did not ; and after 
 waiting some time, they were obliged to 
 sit down to supper without him. And then
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 53 
 
 all the children went to bed. Job was 
 not very late — he was by no means a 
 drinking man ; yet it would have been 
 very much better for them all had there 
 been no " Goose and Gridiron '^ in Five- 
 finger Street ; or, being there, that he 
 had not gone to it. But in this respect, 
 as in many others, people are very little 
 wiser now than they were thirty years ago. 
 
 And this Avas the way Christmas was 
 spent by the Martins. There are plenty 
 of families to be found like them — they 
 can be told by countless thousands ; they 
 have their faults, many and grievous — 
 class faults and individual faults. Much is 
 being done now to endeavour to reform 
 these, which they fall into so much from 
 the circumstances in which they are placed 
 — the efibrts are not being made one day too 
 soon.
 
 54 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Will you pardon me, gentle reader, for 
 bringing you into their society ? — They have 
 human hearts very like your own; they 
 are often swayed by very much the same 
 feelings; believe me, they are not all evil, 
 though they live in Duck Lane. Now, as 
 there was one young head at Fairleigh 
 that rested on a firmer pillow than the 
 others — a pillow which neither sickness nor 
 sorrow could ever ruffle or take away — one 
 over whom some of the angel choirs who, 
 eighteen hundred years ago, joined in the 
 chorus of the " Peace on earth," were 
 watching with peculiar tenderness, so was 
 it also in Duck Lane, though in the latter 
 place the object of their solicitude was only 
 a sickly child, weary and very worn. When 
 ere long that child should enter the eternal 
 world, angels would sing halleluiahs, and 
 the church of the first-born rejoice with
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 55 
 
 exceeding joy, James Knightly would be 
 still on earth, often falling under tempta- 
 tions, mourning over his shortcomings, strug- 
 gling and striving, watching and praying, 
 yet never struggling or striving as he felt 
 he ought, never either in work or prayer 
 coming up to his one Example. Yet, for 
 him also, when the time should come, would 
 there be the same home ; the one blessed 
 beginning will ever have the one glorious 
 end. Verily, there is oftentimes less differ- 
 ence than we are apt to think between 
 dwellers in houses like Fairleigh and those 
 in Duck Lane. 
 
 ^1^
 
 ® (§) ®® (§) ®* (§) ®® (§) ®* ® ®* (§) ®® 
 
 CHAPTER ly. 
 
 THE BLACK COLT. 
 
 A PLEASANT, very pleasant meal was 
 breakfast at Fairleigh, especially when, 
 as on this morning, the family were met 
 together again after absence in town or at 
 school. The day before being Christmas- 
 day, which had taken James to Sadbrooke 
 early, there w^as much left for inquiry this 
 morning. But breakfast was never a very 
 long business with the Knightlys ; there 
 was so much to be seen, so much to be 
 looked after, and they were soon ready to
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 57 
 
 pay a visit to the stables ; Hugh had scarcely 
 seen his horse the day before, and he wanted 
 to have a ride again, after being so long 
 shut up in town. Of course the boys went 
 with them. 
 
 " Are you coming, William ?" asked Hugh. 
 
 No, Hamilton was not coming ; Alice and 
 he were going to take a long ramble to- 
 gether ; they had scarcely seen each other 
 yet, and they had, of course, a great deal 
 to ask and to tell each other. As they 
 walked through the grounds, Cecil said : — 
 
 " Jem's black colt is grown such a 
 beauty, Hugh, and he has broken it in him- 
 self ; everybody says how handsome he is, 
 but Jem expects him to be as good as he 
 is ; and only yesterday, when we had him 
 out in the gig, an old woman wanted to 
 speak to Jem, and, my ! how the colt did 
 start, and how the old woman did run ! "
 
 58 THE CURATE OF SADBEOOKE. 
 
 "It was very foolish of her to stop/' said 
 James ; "she must have seen how fresh the 
 animal was; and it is nonsense of you to 
 talk so, Cecil — you know he makes a 
 capital riding-horse/' 
 
 " Then how was it that you managed 
 nearly to ride over a little boy the other 
 day, when I was out riding with you, only 
 because you called out to know how his 
 mother was?'' replied the incorrigible Cecil. 
 
 " I have no doubt it will make a capital 
 parson's horse in time," said Hugh; "but 
 the parson's only young himself yet, and 
 they can't either of them be expected to 
 know the old women and little boys as well 
 as they will by-and-by !" 
 
 " I wonder whether Jem will ever be 
 able to tie him up to the old woman's 
 cottage rails, or hang his bridle over the 
 gate of the new school he means to have.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 59 
 
 He'll be good if he stands that ; I know I 
 couldn't — I can't bear old women," replied 
 Cecil. 
 
 "Nobody ever thought you were good," 
 responded Hugh, " except perhaps your- 
 self." 
 
 "I should like to preach, but I never 
 could go to see old women," said Cecil ; 
 " and I don't think I could teach boys ; I 
 mean boys who are so stupid as they are 
 at Sadbrooke." 
 
 *^ Don't talk about things you don't under- 
 stand, Cecil," said James. 
 
 **May I ride the colt just once, Jem?" 
 entreated Guy. 
 
 " You ride the colt ! — most certainly not. 
 I hardly like Cecil doing it ; but he sticks 
 on like a monkey, as he is." 
 
 " There, Cecil, you hear what you are 
 thought of now; I hope you approve of
 
 60 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 your likeness — I do, most decidedly/' said 
 Hugh. 
 
 Guy looked very disappointed. 
 
 ^^ Never mind," said his brother, ^* you 
 shall have a ride at Midsummer; the colt 
 will be steady by that time. Come in and 
 look at him, Hugh," he added, as he opened 
 the stable door. 
 
 Very handsome indeed he looked, as he 
 stood there, with his long mane and 
 tail. His master went up to him patting 
 him, and was evidently immediately recog- 
 nised by the animal. 
 
 ** He is a beauty, Jem," said Hugh ; 
 ^' but I don't think you must expect him 
 to take to old women just at present. 
 He would make a racer." 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! for human frailty ! Old 
 Adam was too much for young Melancthon, 
 is it to be wondered at if this same ^' Yecchio
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 61 
 
 Adamo " had still power over the heart of 
 the curate of Sadbrooke. 
 
 " I'll back the colt against your Night 
 Star, Hugh," he said, ^Ho be first over 
 the iron fence, down the long meadow, 
 and then over the hawthorn hedge at the 
 end." 
 
 " Done !" cried Hugh. " My white ter- 
 rier against your new riding-whip that 
 Night Star beats the colt by a length, 
 before we come to the hawthorn hedge." 
 
 But the curate's face leni]fthened consider- 
 
 "You know I did not mean that, Hugh," 
 he said. ^* I never bet now; not that I 
 have any doubt of the colt, but I object 
 to the whole system on principle." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly not, only I wanted a 
 riding-whip ; but you will try the horses 
 just the same, I suppose."
 
 62 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I ride the colt every 
 morning, and put it over the fences. It 
 is perfectly quiet to ride, but not yet 
 quite so steady as I could wish in har- 
 ness." 
 
 So the horses were saddled and led out, 
 their owners trotting them about a little. 
 
 " Poor Night Star !" said Hugh, caress- 
 ing the chestnut, '^ you were the beauty in 
 the summer, and now you are thought no- 
 thing of by the side of this new upstart ; 
 but we will show him we think nothing of 
 him, though we are not to win the riding- 
 whip." 
 
 They drew up their horses side by side, 
 with difficulty restraining their impatience 
 till the signal agreed on had been given 
 by Cecil. Then overclearing the fence at a 
 bound came Night Star, flying like a bird; 
 and scarce a second later over came the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 63 
 
 colt, bestrode by the compact figure of the 
 curate, the animars legs flying in a manner 
 very different from those of the ambling 
 pad, which la convenance asserts to be the 
 proper mount for the clergy. 
 
 Neck and neck through the field went 
 the black colt and the chestnut ; but the next 
 moment was a very critical one. They were 
 nearing the awkward hawthorn hedge, and 
 the colt was scarcely sufficiently broke to 
 make such a leap a safe one. But a slightly 
 firmer pressure of the knees, a touch of the 
 bridle by the light but well accustomed 
 hand, and the colt sprang safely over the 
 fence, about half a head in advance of 
 Night Star, whose somewhat loosely-sitting 
 rider scarcely avoided catching one of his 
 long legs in an overhanging bough. 
 
 Now, the hawthorn hedge was the boundary 
 on the south side of the grounds of Fair-
 
 64 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 leigh, and on the other side was a lane 
 — a very unfrequented lane ; and neither 
 of the riders thought for a moment there 
 was the slightest chance of their intruding 
 on anything larger than perhaps a water- 
 rat in the ditch. 
 
 But the evil genius of the curate of 
 Sadbrooke was certainly in tlie ascendant 
 that morning, for as his horse alighted on 
 the ground the first sight that met his 
 astonished view was none other than the 
 person of the Rev. Edward Saxon, rector 
 of Sadborough-cum-Sadbrooke, who, together 
 with his wife, was walking down the lane 
 at that early hour to visit a sick 
 parishioner. 
 
 In vain did he attempt to raise his hat, 
 in vain did he endeavour to speak a few 
 words of certainly not unnecessary apology, 
 in vain did he strive to draw his rein —
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 65 
 
 the colt had been put on his mettle, and 
 having found his first race a most delight- 
 fully exciting proceeding, was determined not 
 to be quiet when his master desired him. 
 Most contamaciously did he stand on his 
 hind legs, pawing the air with his front, 
 until the curate, as the only chance of 
 securing his own safety as well as that of 
 the bystanders, gave him his head, and 
 quickly was seen going up the hill at full 
 galop, running away, as he himself felt, 
 like a boy from the presence of the 
 rector. 
 
 But utterly reprehensible as was the con- 
 duct of the colt and his clerical owner, 
 the lawyer and Night Star proved themselves 
 fully equal to the emergency. The beau- 
 tiful, well-trained animal stood perfectly still, 
 her arched neck still quivering with ex- 
 citement, as her rider leapt lightly off, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6Q THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 and, with the bridle hanging on his arm, 
 raised his cap, and approaching Mr. Saxon, 
 very gracefully apologised for the careless- 
 ness of his brother and himself. 
 
 The lane, he said, was so little used, 
 he feared they had almost appropriated it; 
 but Mr. and Mrs. Saxon might rely such 
 a thing should never happen again ; and he 
 felt sure his brother would much regret 
 not having made his own excuses for his 
 conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Saxon, a tall, fair, elegant-looldng 
 woman, quickly recovered her self-posses- 
 sion, though she owned the apparition of 
 the two flying horses had been for the 
 moment very startling. And the rector, 
 with a good-humoured laugh, told Hugh 
 he was glad they Avere all safe, and it 
 was not worth saying anything more about. 
 
 '' Though you'll certainly break your
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 67 
 
 necks, some of you, one day," he added, 
 " if you don't take a little more care ; 
 but I suppose, Hugh, it is a treat for you 
 to be in the country again ; and how long 
 have you come to stay?'' 
 
 And after a little more conversation they 
 parted. 
 
 After about an hour's ride, James thought 
 the colt was sufficiently quieted down to 
 be taken home without any injury to his 
 education ; and going in as usual at the 
 side gate, went through the court-yard up 
 to the stable door. Here he saw Cecil 
 lovingly caressing a large white owl, who 
 sat winking and blinking his great round 
 eyes in the rays of the low winter sun, 
 to which the boy had inadvertently turned 
 him. He looked up as his brother came 
 in, and said — 
 
 " I knew you'd win, Jem ; the colt is 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 SO quiet now. I rode him myself yester- 
 day, and took him over the low fence ; 
 he went beautifully. We all took the 
 short cut, and saw you both come over 
 the hedge ; but we kept back when we 
 saw you had run down Mr. and Mrs. 
 Saxon." 
 
 "Where did you get that owl, Cecil?'' 
 inquired his brother, sternly, suspecting the 
 state of the case. 
 
 " Oh ! he was Guy's, you know. I bet 
 my best pair of pouters against him that 
 the colt would win; I knew that he was 
 safe for it." 
 
 " But you ought not to bet, Cecil," 
 replied his brother ; "you know it is not 
 a right thing to do — I never bet." 
 
 " Oh ! no more do we, for money or 
 anything of that sort — of course we shouldn't 
 think of doing such a thing. I only laid
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 69 
 
 my pouters against the owl, he is such a 
 darling old fellow, and I did want him so !" 
 replied the boy, hugging the bird as he 
 spoke. 
 
 This proposition of Cecil's, that to desire 
 very ardently the possession of another, is 
 a sufficient reason for obtaining it, even 
 though the manner in which it is gained is 
 not altogether a right one, would at any 
 other time have been strongly combated 
 by his brother. But as it is said to be 
 the last straw that breaks the horse's 
 back, so this small bet of his brother's 
 seemed to cap his misdeeds of the morn- 
 ing ; and he was just then in no humour 
 for preaching. So dismounting, he gave 
 the horse to the groom, with many direc- 
 tions as to the attention to be paid to him; 
 and leaving Cecil feeding and petting the 
 owl, went on through the grounds, for the
 
 70 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 purpose of holding with himself one of 
 those disquisitions which are so difficult 
 to bring to a satisfactory termination. 
 
 Was it a wrong thing to have ridden 
 the colt that morning? — and if not, 
 was there any harm in having a race 
 with his brother's horse ? Were the gifts 
 of a clear eye, a steady hand, and firm 
 nerves, all bestowed on him by God to be 
 lightly regarded, or treated as of no value ? 
 Would he not lose all these if he shut him- 
 self up all day in his study ? — and should 
 he not become dreadfully disagreeable be- 
 sides. He felt sure he should. Was it not 
 his duty to improve all his advantages ? — 
 might they not become of use, of incalcu- 
 lable use, even to him, in his holy pro- 
 fession? 
 
 So he went on, asking himself question 
 after question of this kind : what recreation
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 71 
 
 was allowable and what was not ? — how far 
 must he refrain from all enjoyment, and 
 in what might he indulge ? — questions the 
 like of which, to many of us — that is, to 
 those of us who ever think at all — are 
 continually recurring ; questions that have 
 nothing to do with the one broad rule 
 of right and wrong, for which there is no 
 answer in the Scriptures of truth ; and 
 questions, therefore, which each must answer 
 for himself, and himself alone, as in the 
 sight of God, and according to the ability 
 which God giveth. But for all those who, 
 like the curate of Sadbrooke, have set be- 
 fore themselves one high and holy aim, 
 these minor things will become daily of 
 less and less importance, merging gradu- 
 ally, yet surely, into the one great pur- 
 pose to which they have dedicated their 
 lives and souls, and which will shine
 
 72 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 ever brighter and brighter unto the perfect 
 day. 
 
 So, after some time spent in this self- 
 consultation, without arriving at any defi- 
 nite conclusion with respect to the matter 
 then under consideration, but with very 
 decided advantage to himself, as regarded 
 his ever-deepening determination of living 
 henceforth no longer to himself, but unto 
 Him whose servant he especially was, James 
 Knightly retraced his steps to the house, 
 and entered the drawing-room. Here he 
 found the ubiquitous Cecil now relating 
 the account of the morning's adventure. 
 Throwing himself into an attitude which 
 he intended to represent that of Mrs. 
 Saxon, when the horses came so astonish- 
 ingly over the hedge ; he addressed his 
 conversation to his mother, by saying, 
 
 ^^ And she reared, mamma, right up ! —
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 73 
 
 Mrs. Saxon reared just like Jem's colt ! I 
 wish you could have seen them both !" 
 
 " My dear James/' said his mother as he 
 came in, "I wish you would he more care- 
 ful. I am so sorry you have frightened 
 Mrs. Saxon." 
 
 " What are you talking of, Cecil ?" said 
 their father ; ^^ what is all this about the 
 colt ? You don't mean to say, Jem, that 
 you took that young horse over the hedge ? 
 — it was positively unsafe ; and you should 
 have looked to see whether anyone was 
 coming. Do pray remember you are no 
 longer a boy — you must endeavour to re- 
 collect your position as a clergyman." 
 
 But the day was not yet over. A few 
 friends were coming to dinner, and amongst 
 them Mr. and Mrs. Saxon. James spoke 
 to them immediately on their arrival, apolo- 
 gising with great frankness, for what he
 
 74 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 not untruly called his unwarrantable con- 
 duct ; and very cordially was his explana- 
 tion received, though with the assurance 
 it was altogether unnecessary, his brother 
 having said far more than was required 
 in the morning. However, after dinner, 
 when the ladies had retired, the rector 
 drew his chair near to his curate, deeming 
 it his duty to give him a little friendly ex- 
 postulation with regard to his conduct. 
 
 ^^ I am really quite glad to see you 
 safe here this evening, Knightly," he began ; 
 'M3ut although I know you do not like 
 to hear it, I must say, I really think 
 you are hardly justified in risking, in the 
 manner you do, so valuable a life as yours 
 is become." 
 
 Now, it happened that this doctrine of 
 useful lives — a very favourite one with 
 the Eeverend Edward Saxon — ran directly
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 75 
 
 counter to an equally favourite theory of the 
 Keverend James Knightly's. 
 
 '^I am sure, my dear sir/' he replied, 
 *'^I feel greatly flattered at the very 
 favourable opinion you have of me, and 
 very much pleased that you should take 
 any interest at all in me ; but really 
 you must forgive me, but I cannot see 
 that my life is at all more useful than 
 that of any other man who endeavours to 
 do his duty." 
 
 " Your groom's, for instance," said the rec- 
 tor, drily. 
 
 " Exactly," replied the curate ; "I con- 
 sider, myself, the horse is perfectly safe now 
 for a child to ride ; but taking your view 
 of the case, if I do not ride him, it will 
 be the duty of the under-groom to take 
 him out for exercise, a young man in whom 
 I take the greatest interest, and who is
 
 76 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the chief support of his poor mother, and 
 who, I really trust, may prove a great 
 blessing to all with whom he comes in 
 contact.'' 
 
 *^ But you surely allow that, as a clergy- 
 man, your inlluence extends through a much 
 larger sphere, and that therefore you have 
 far greater opportunities for usefulness than 
 a man in a lower position of life." 
 
 "My responsibilities are much greater," 
 he replied very gravely; "none can have 
 a deeper, I may say, a more painful sense 
 of that, than I have myself; but I be- 
 lieve God has placed every man in the 
 place He sees most suited to him ; and 
 it is only in another world that we shall 
 ever know which of us has been most 
 instrumental in setting forth His glory, 
 and in furthering the good of our fellow- 
 men."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 77 
 
 The rector could not but remember how, 
 a few short months before, the said groom had 
 bid fair to turn out one of the wildest 
 young men in Sadborough, and how it 
 was undoubtedly through the instrument- 
 ality of his argumentative curate, that he 
 now bid fair to become, as James had truly 
 said, a blessing to all around him; but he 
 only said — 
 
 " Well, I have nothing more to say, ex- 
 cept that it would deeply grieve me if by 
 any accident I should lose so useful a curate ; 
 though perhaps it might tend to my own 
 personal quietness, with respect to parish 
 matters, had I a less zealous coadjutor — 
 eh, Knightly T' 
 
 And the rector laughed, a little low laugh, 
 at his own joke. James Knightly was 
 naturally very far from a vain man, but that 
 half hour's self-communing in the morning
 
 78 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 had made him just then especially humble. 
 So he said, with real true feeling, 
 
 " I cannot think, my dear sir, I was in 
 any danger whatever ; but if anything had 
 happened to me this morning, I am quite 
 sure you would have found no difficulty in 
 finding a man far more fitted than I am, 
 in every respect, to fulfil the duties of so 
 holy a calling ; and perhaps," he added, 
 with a slight smile, ^^ he might have no 
 fancy for training a colt.'' 
 
 So, happily for all parties, without any 
 accident, was concluded this little episode in 
 the career of the black colt ; but the story 
 was not soon forgotten by the rector of 
 Sadborough, who would frequently relate it, 
 when, as was his wont, he was recounting 
 the good deeds of the curate of Sad- 
 brooke.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 A RAY OF LIGHT IN SUN COURT. 
 
 A BOUT the same time that, according to 
 the last chapter of this most veritable 
 chronicle, James and Hugh Knightly were 
 conducting themselves in a manner that, 
 had they been less fortunate than they were 
 in escaping Mr. and Mrs. Saxon, might 
 have fairly laid them open to a charge of 
 manslaughter, Maude Wilmot might have 
 been seen picking her way as carefully as 
 she could through the mud of Fivefinger 
 Street ; then, turning into Duck Lane, she
 
 80 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 spoke a word to Nanny Martin, who was 
 standing at the door, and promising to call 
 on her return ; she was finally lost sight 
 of in Sun Court. 
 
 A fair vision anywhere, a wonderfully 
 fair vision at that part of the world, 
 was Maude. But how was she dressed ? 
 says the reader. Well, that is a try- 
 ing, a very trying question for the unini- 
 tiated ; how shall it be answered ? She 
 certainly wore no crinoline — they were not 
 in use thirty years ago ; her hair was not 
 done up in a small cabbage-net made of 
 chenille ; she did not wear a shade hat, or 
 a turban hat, or a red feather, or a grebe 
 plume — and that is about all the informa- 
 tion I can give my fair reader. But Sally 
 Martin told her sister Suky that evening 
 all the young lady wore, from the bow on 
 her bonnet to the shoes or boots on her
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 81 
 
 little feet ; but then her perceptions were 
 quickened by the hope that, as Maude had 
 once given her something, she might have 
 a reversionary interest, in part, of the pro- 
 perty in question — an idea which gave many 
 an anxious thought, like all doubtful hopes 
 regarding future wealth, to the mind of Sally. 
 Her hair not having as yet been turned up — 
 an expression in use at the time to which 
 this story relates — hung in long, sweeping, 
 curling masses, like pale gold, almost down 
 to her slender waist. It was a very fair 
 face that looked up from under the bonnet, 
 with a world of love and thought in the 
 blue eyes, far more than she herself had as 
 yet any idea of, more probably than she 
 would ever know ; for Maude's would be 
 the common woman's lot, to live in the 
 life of another, the joy of the house, the 
 delight of every heart, and shedding that 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 joy and that light as unconsciously as the 
 bright luminary who now sent a few blessed 
 beams up Duck Lane, though even he could 
 not penetrate into Sun Court. 
 
 Maude went in at the open door of a house. 
 There were two steps down ; it felt very damp 
 and chill, coming in out of the fresh air. 
 A large family lived in the lower rooms ; 
 the man was a shoemaker, a rough, fearful- 
 looking man, with wild, fierce eyes; he always 
 frightened Maude. They were dirty, . slat- 
 ternly people on the first floor — altogether 
 she did not much like coming to this house, 
 but her mission was to the occupant of the 
 attic at the top. 
 
 She went up two flights of steep stairs, 
 the last flight almost a ladder, and emerged 
 through a trap door, entering by this 
 means into the room at the top of the 
 house.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 83 
 
 Tt was a decent room enough, of fair size, 
 and clean and tidy -looking — a great contrast, 
 in this respect, to the rest of the house. 
 The occupant was a widow woman, of the 
 name of Brown, who, with a little occasional 
 help from the parish, contrived to keep her- 
 self, and her only son, in tolerable comfort, 
 by continual work at the braiding, as the 
 making the nets was called. There was a 
 large net on the floor, some skeins of twine 
 on the table, and also the queer-looking 
 needles, and little short round sticks used 
 for the work. 
 
 The woman worked extremely quick ; Maude 
 was accustomed to see it done in this way, 
 but it was always a wonder to her how it 
 was managed, it took her so much longer 
 to do a little purse — they were not done 
 in crochet thirty years ago — than it did 
 Widow Brown to braid a large net. 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 " How are you to-day, Mrs. Brown ?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 "Well, Miss Maude, the rheumatics be 
 terrible bad. I did just get out a bit yester- 
 day, and I'm none the better for that same, 
 and they stairs be most too much for me to 
 manage." 
 
 ^' I'm very sorry to hear you are so 
 poorly," said Maude. " Mamma has got 
 some things left from the old people's dinner 
 yesterday, and she sent me to say there is 
 your share for you, if you are well enough 
 to come up to our house, if not you can send 
 Jem." 
 
 " I'll come myself, I reckon ; I s'pose I can 
 do that — I must. 'Tain't much I gets by 
 staying at home, they who goes about gets 
 the things, they who stops at home gets 
 nought." 
 
 Maude thought this hard, as she had come
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 85 
 
 into this region that morning principally to 
 see Widow Brown, and offer her this beef 
 and pudding. She thought she would change 
 the subject. 
 
 ^' Has your son any work now, Mrs. 
 Brown?" she inquired. 
 
 ^' Not a bit o't — nobody gives he work ; 
 there's they as gets everything, they who 
 don't want it ; they who do, never has 
 none." 
 
 Maude knew that Mr. Gain always kept 
 Widow Brown employed, even when work 
 Avas slack. She was a good worker — that 
 might be the cause ; or, as is sometimes the 
 case, charity and interest might, by his so 
 doing, walk together pleasantly hand-in-hand. 
 
 Mr. Gain had a talent for putting out his 
 money well. Fivefinger Street and Duck 
 Lane being well looked after, paid him fair 
 interest. Now, as he had much goods laid
 
 86 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 up for many years, sufficient for himself and 
 his family, would it he wrong, he sometimes 
 thought, to lay up some small treasure in 
 heaven. He could not afford to tie up much 
 money so very tight, hut the time might 
 come when the investment — adventure, he 
 was rather inclined to call it — might prove 
 to have heen a profitahle one. At all events, 
 he would employ Widow Brown; he felt sure, 
 in pious phraseology, it would he returned 
 to him. So, although work was slack that 
 winter, there was plenty of twine given 
 out to Widow Brown, and she was not justi- 
 fied in saying that she was forgotten. 
 
 ^' Was not Jem working for Farmer Ste- 
 wart at Sadbrooke?" asked Maude. 
 
 "Yes, he were ; he be out now, he turned 
 him off, I dunno for why. He's to go to 
 school soon; the parson a-heerd he was 
 out o' work, and came arter he.''
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 87 
 
 " It was very kind of Mr. Saxon," said 
 Maude. 
 
 " 'Tweren't Mr. Saxon, 'twere Parson 
 Knightly ; he knew as we was going to 
 Sadbrooke, and he's in want of boys for 
 his new school." 
 
 " Going to Sadbrooke !" said Maude, 
 astonished. 
 
 She had never known Widow Brown 
 anywhere but in Sun Court, and she 
 could not understand it. 
 
 '^Yes, we be a-going. Sun Court's bad 
 for the rheumatiz, and I've got a brother 
 to Sadbrooke, who be well off, and he've 
 got a cottage ; and 'twill be some un to 
 speak to — I don't make no neighbours 
 here." 
 
 "You will be able to keep on the braid- 
 ing just the same, I suppose ?" asked her 
 visitor.
 
 88 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; I can walk well enough wi' 
 a stick, and when I can't come in my- 
 self, Jem can come for me ; Mr. Gain 
 will keep me my work/' 
 
 Maude was not fond of Mrs. Brown, but 
 she wished to be as polite as possible, 
 and therefore said — 
 
 '' If you can do for a little while with- 
 out Jem's work, it will be a great thing 
 for him to get a little schooling." 
 
 " Yes, I s'pose 'twill do he good, or I 
 shouldn't 'a 'greed to his going ; but I hope 
 if he goes reg'lar the parson will pay him 
 a bit, to make up for the loss ; perhaps 
 you'll speak just a word for him, Miss 
 Maude." 
 
 The last sentence was spoken in a much 
 more pleasant tone of voice than she had 
 used previously. She was looking full at 
 Maude, and perhaps was a little softened
 
 THE CURxiTE OF SADBROOKE. 89 
 
 at the sight of the pretty figure that stood 
 before her, or perhaps she thought such 
 a pleader must soften the parson. Maude 
 pitied the woman's ignorance, but had some 
 small share of sympathy left for James 
 Knightly. She replied — 
 
 " Mamma said at four o'clock, if you 
 can come. Good morning, Mrs. Brown." 
 
 Widow Brown made a parting curtsey 
 to her visitor, smoothing down her beauti- 
 fully clean checked apron as she did so ; 
 but after she left muttered to her- 
 self— 
 
 "That be the way o' them. They tells 
 us when to come, and then they tells us 
 to go, and we be to take what they gi'es, 
 and then to say as we likes it." 
 
 But she certainly did like it. Mrs. Wil- 
 mot always gave away what was good, 
 as none knew better than Widow Brown.
 
 90 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 So punctually at four o'clock she arrived 
 at her door, and received a plentiful 
 supply. 
 
 Maude went downstairs, passing the slat- 
 ternly family and the fearful-looking man, 
 who looked up from his work, and gave a 
 sort of growl, as she passed the room where 
 he was sitting at work. She was very 
 glad to be out of Mrs- Brown's awful pre- 
 sence, and, turning out of Sun Court, went 
 into the Martins' cottage. Nanny met her 
 at the door, and, in reply to her inquiries 
 after Tom, said, 
 
 " Very pla-in. Miss Maude, terribly pla-in, 
 thankee. Mr. Mills have a been to see 
 him. Mr. Knightly told him how bad he 
 was. Parson Knightly often comes to see 
 Tom — he said as Mr. Saxon had axed 
 him." 
 
 Maude knew this, James Knightly had
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 91 
 
 told her so, and it was he who had asked 
 her to go to the Martins'. It happened in 
 this way. About a fortnight before James 
 Knightly set off one morning to go to Sad- 
 brooke. He had a trying day before him ; 
 he was going to call on the farmers, and 
 expected to find them impracticable. 
 Eeformers have always difiiculties to 
 meet with — they must expect opposition. 
 The new curate of Sadbrooke thought the 
 place terribly behind the rest of the world 
 in every respect, pitiably so with regard to 
 the best knowledge of all. But there are 
 two sides to every cause, the farmers 
 thought. 
 
 ^^ The parson be very young, 'twon't do 
 to give way to he ; new-fangled notions 
 never did go down at Sadbrooke, and never 
 wouldn't.'' 
 
 So on the morning in question, with the
 
 92 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 thouglit of these visits before him, James 
 Knightly started for Sadbrooke, and at the 
 corner of a street in Sadborough turned 
 suddenly on Maude Wilmot. 
 
 Very much as a person feels who on a 
 cold wintry day all at once finds himself 
 in a gleam of bright sunshine, did the 
 curate feel in the presence of Maude. He 
 basked in the golden gleam, he enjoyed 
 himself extremely, but the interview was 
 drawing to an end, and still he shrank 
 from going out of the charmed circle in 
 which he was standing, to again encounter 
 the chill beyond. But just then an idea 
 struck him, by which he could both 
 lengthen the conversation for a minute or 
 two, and also by sending the cheering ray 
 in the direction he chose for it, in some 
 measure appropriate it to himself as his 
 own property. He therefore told her of
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 93 
 
 poor Tom Martin, and desciibed the place 
 and the people, saying they were very re- 
 spectable though they were poor, and that 
 as he had been very much engaged of 
 late and had not been able to go there, 
 it would be such a real comfort to him 
 if she would go instead and supply his place. 
 Maude's cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes 
 fell beneath his glance. They had always 
 been so much together like brother and 
 sister, that it was nothing to them either 
 to ask or receive any little service that the 
 other could grant ; but James Knightly 
 had never before asked her to see any poor 
 person for him, and it was something very 
 new and delightful to think that while he 
 was busy working she could be really use- 
 ful to him. 
 
 " I am going home," she said, " and I'll 
 ask mamma; but I am quite sure she'll
 
 94 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 let me, and I'll go down directly — that is, 
 if you don't think they'll mind me," she 
 added ; for Maude, like many people who 
 have not visited much amongst the poor, 
 was rather shy of going to see strangers. 
 
 " I'm quite sure they'll like to see you 
 extremely, Maude," said the curate empha- 
 tically ; and then he walked lingeringly 
 away. 
 
 But for the next mile he quite forgot 
 the farmers, and allowed his mind's eye 
 to bring before him a picture of the little 
 house in Duck Lane, with a very fair ray 
 of light just then falling on the un- 
 accustomed face of poor Tom. 
 
 Maude had been several times since 
 to the Martins, and was quite at home 
 with them, and Tom looked forward to 
 her visits with the greatest pleasure. 
 
 It was something only just to sit and look
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 95 
 
 at her, she was so different from any person 
 he had ever seen before ; and when she 
 sat down and talked and read to him, 
 and sometimes sang him a hymn, was it 
 any wonder that he scarcely thought she 
 was a creature of this world — she certainly 
 did not belong to his world of Duck 
 Lane. 
 
 She went in and his eyes brightened. 
 
 ^^ I am so glad to see you, Miss Maude !" 
 he said. 
 
 She took his thin hand in hers ; it was 
 hot and feverish. 
 
 "You are not well to-day, Tom, I am 
 afraid ?" she asked. 
 
 "No, Miss Maude, I feel terrible weak. 
 I try to get out a little in the sun, but 
 I can't walk now without a stick. I 
 wonder whether I shall ever get any better ?" 
 
 She did not know herself, but she had
 
 96 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 heard James Knightly say there was no 
 chance of his doing so, and she would 
 not use any deceit towards him She said 
 timidly — 
 
 " God knows what is best for us all, 
 Tom ; I should be very glad if you did 
 not suffer so much ; there is no pain, no 
 suffering in Heaven." 
 
 She was almost afraid she had said too 
 much, but the poor rarely mind speaking 
 of death, before those whose time is very 
 short, and Tom was so used to it, the 
 way she put it sounded very pleasant to 
 him. 
 
 ''No, Miss Maude, I often think that 
 when I lie here of nights. I look out o' 
 window at the stars, and think it mayn't 
 be long afore I be up among 'em. They 
 do look so quiet and bright like, they 
 makes me feel quiet too."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 97 
 
 It was a child's way of putting it, but 
 who has not felt the wonderful sense of 
 calm produced in the mind by contem- 
 plating these glorious orbs, which, set in 
 order by the Hand of the Eternal, ages 
 and ages since, have rolled on in their clear 
 beauty until now? 
 
 ^^ Please sing," said Tom. 
 
 She sang the Christmas hymn, ^* Hark, 
 the herald angels sing!" 
 
 '' I thought of the angels last night," 
 said the boy. " I sometimes think I hear 
 them ; I shall very soon. Miss Maude. I'm 
 not afraid to die now. I was once, but 
 Mr. Knightly have told me of the Lord 
 Jesus saying — ^ Suffer little children to come 
 unto me, and forbid them not, for of such 
 is the Kingdom of Heaven.' Those who 
 come to Him, means those who love Him 
 and trust Him — isn't it so, Miss Maude ?" 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 ^^Yes/^ she replied, softly. 
 
 She could not talk as Tom did, she was 
 not so near the eternal world. 
 
 "Shall I sing your favourite?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 " Oh ! please, yes !" he replied. 
 
 It was that pretty one — " There is a 
 land of pure delight." 
 
 The boy listened to it almost entranced. 
 He was but a poor child, he only lived in 
 Duck Lane, but was he not then stand- 
 ing like Moses on the top of Pisgah, look- 
 ing over into the promised land ? 
 
 "I will come again very soon,'' said 
 Maude. 
 
 And the ray of light vanished from 
 Sun Court and Duck Lane.
 
 M 
 
 :--i ^•^^ y:<--\K ■■■*^-- jf: :•;^ <4»^ '^'^■^^ ^•^^ jf-u-i': >^> :=;-v-;=: ^v- •^^•;^'" ••«* • -^i^^- "• ^v- -^i-^ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE VILLAGE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 TI7HEN, six months before the time that 
 this story commences, James Knightly 
 was appointed to his first curacy of Sad- 
 brooke, he found the pLace in what he 
 called a truly deplorable condition. It 
 had been the custom to have but one full 
 service in the church on Sunday ; in the 
 afternoon there were only prayers. There 
 was no school, the children were expected 
 to go to that at Sadborough. Some did 
 so, some were taught by a lame woman 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE CURATE OF SADBEOOKE. 
 
 who worked hard all the time at the 
 braiding, and the greater part attended 
 no seminary for learning whatever. There 
 had been very little visiting the sick, no 
 real caring for the people in any way. 
 There were a few doles, that had belonged 
 to the poor from time immemorial. A 
 dozen twopenny loaves were placed every 
 Sunday afternoon on a shelf under the 
 reading-desk. These were given away 
 after service for the use of old people 
 over seventy, and were called Eobinson's 
 bread. Then at Christmas there was Wil- 
 liamson's charity, for those who did not 
 receive from the parish, strictly tied down 
 to Church people. Johnson's charity for 
 those who did receive parish relief — the 
 recipients of this charity to be selected 
 by respectable householders ; and Thompson's 
 charity (high honour to the memory of
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 101 
 
 Thompson) for all who needed it, be they 
 who thej might, as far as the money 
 would go. The curate superintended the 
 bestowment of these benefactions, and, ex- 
 cept in very special cases, they were all 
 the people had to look to. 
 
 The inhabitants of Sadbrooke were brought 
 to the font in infancy to be baptized ; 
 when the time came, they stood before the 
 altar to be married ; and when taken away 
 by death, the prayers of Holy Mother 
 Church (a phrase which has come more 
 into vogue, however, since those days) 
 were read over them. But fearfully had 
 the mother neglected her duty, and the 
 were riotous children at Sadbrooke. Their 
 forefathers had bequeathed them a church 
 — they had bestowed on themselves two 
 chapels. The church was a small, vene- 
 rable-looking building, with narrow latticed
 
 102 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Avindows deeply set in the thick Avails, 
 some quaint carvings of heads round the 
 Gothic arch of the door, and a tower, 
 mantled to the very top with a thick 
 drapery of ivy. It stood on somewhat 
 high ground, overlooking the village, and 
 looked as though it would fain have 
 blessed the people if it might. 
 
 Of the two chapels, one was very small, 
 but very handsome, and was intended to 
 be a tiny, but, as far as possible (under 
 the difficult circumstances of the case), 
 correct representation of the Temple of 
 Diana at Ephesus. It had facings and 
 columns of Portland stone, and must 
 have cost a large sum of money. It had 
 been built by a wealthy gentleman of the 
 neighbourhood, who scarcely lived to see 
 it completed. There was an appointed 
 preacher to this chapel, a man of some in-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 103 
 
 tellect and fair education ; but his creed 
 was a cold and lifeless one. I much 
 doubt whether, had his been the doctrines 
 preached, it would have needed the in- 
 terference of the town-clerk to still the 
 riot at Ephesus. 
 
 The other chapel was at the further end 
 of the village. Some people said it was 
 built in defiance of all the rules of ar- 
 chitecture ; but no one had ever intended 
 to be defiant — they had simply never 
 thought of any rules. It kept out the 
 cold and snow of winter, and the sun 
 and thunder showers of summer ; there 
 was no danger of its falling in and crush- 
 ing the people, as some such chapels have 
 done, and this was the most that could be 
 said of it. Yet it was not without onia- 
 ment. Two Corinthian pillars supported a 
 flat porch, round the top of which ran
 
 104 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 a mosaic carving. There was a clock over 
 the door, and the flat roof was hidden by 
 a battlement. There was no regular minis- 
 ter to this chapel — the services were con- 
 ducted alternately by a travelling tinker, 
 a carpenter of a neighbouring village, and 
 a factory foreman from Sadborough. Yet 
 even the curate was, after a time, obliged 
 to allow that it was wonderful how large 
 an amount of Scripture knowledge some of 
 these people possessed, and what a facility 
 many of them had in expressing it. 
 
 The chapel had not been built many 
 years. The people belonging to the sect 
 previously met in a cottage. As there 
 was no distinctive feature to mark the 
 cottage from those around it, a paper 
 was wafered in one of the small panes 
 of the window to this effect: — '^The ever- 
 lasting Gospel is preached here every Sun-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 105 
 
 day and Wednesday evening, at seven 
 o'clock/' I have seen people very angry 
 at a paper like that. 
 
 With respect to the congregations at 
 these different places of worship, all the 
 farmers, a few people of the class of retired 
 tradesmen, who had pretty cottages at 
 Sadbrooke — one or two of the small shop- 
 keepers — the better class of the poor, that 
 is, those who did not receive parish re- 
 lief, together with all those in the parish 
 over seventy, with scarcely an exception 
 attended the services of the church. We 
 must hope the old people sought higher 
 food than Eobinson's bread. A few gen- 
 tlemen's families who lived near, together 
 with some of the retired tradespeople, 
 and a few of the better-educated among 
 the farmers' sons — though these latter were 
 only occasional visitors — entered suitably
 
 106 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 attired beneath the portico of the epitome 
 of the Temple of Diana. The greater 
 number of the small shopkeepers, a great 
 number of the poor, and all the farm- 
 servants, went to the brick chapel, to 
 benefit by the alternate ministrations of 
 the tinker, the carpenter, and the factory 
 foreman. 
 
 Sadbrooke was a very pretty little vil- 
 lage — so thoroughly rustic. The Sad, here 
 considerably narrowed since leaving the 
 town, gave great additional beauty to the 
 place. The village was distant about two 
 miles from Sadborough. The road, after 
 leaving the town, went inland, up a 
 gentle ascent for about a mile and a half. 
 A lane, with a finger-post marked to Sad- 
 brooke, then turned to the riglit. From 
 the top of the hill the view was beau- 
 tiful. Southward was the sea^ with the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 107 
 
 harbour of Sadport in sight ; and far to 
 the north stretched a boggy moor, purple 
 in Autumn with the coloured heath. The 
 little village, nestling in a hollow between 
 the hills, was principally built along the 
 banks of the river ; though a few farm- 
 houses and small cottages, surrounded with 
 trees, were dotted around at various parts 
 of the landscape. 
 
 From this point the winding of the Sad 
 could be traced for miles, from where it ran 
 out into the sea at the harbour, or where 
 it washed the convent walls, then where 
 it rippled through the village; till, gazing 
 far away, the traveller almost fancied he 
 could discover the brook amid the heather 
 at the little hamlet of Holywell, whence 
 it took its rise. 
 
 The lane out of the high road went 
 with very little winding, and very few ups
 
 108 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 and downs, for about a quarter of a mile, 
 when, just before entering the village, it 
 dipped suddenly. The hill, though short, 
 was a very precipitous one ; though it had 
 probably at some time been still higher, 
 as the church stood quite on a bank above 
 the road, on the left side, with a raised 
 causeway and steps up to it, by which 
 you might reach the little wicket-gate that 
 opened into the churchyard. 
 
 On the opposite side of the lane was a 
 farm-house, with hay and corn stacks at 
 the back. From one point on the top 
 of the hill the appearance was exactly 
 as if the road led straight into the Sad, 
 so completely did it seem to flow across the 
 bottom of the lane. But passing the church 
 and the farm, the visitor would find the river 
 took a sudden turn to the left, and the 
 road turned a sharp corner to the right,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 109 
 
 before coming quite to the bottom of the 
 hill, going in front of the farm-house. It 
 was a sort of terrace road just here, having 
 been cut high to avoid the overflowing of 
 the water ; and a row of white palings 
 were placed to prevent any danger to car- 
 riages. A little further on this road was 
 the Temple of Diana, looking very much, 
 in this close proximity to the hay-ricks, as 
 if, like the image of the goddess herself, 
 it had fallen down from Jupiter. Further 
 on were some very pretty little houses, 
 with gardens before them, looking very gay 
 and picturesque in summer, with their bright 
 flowers and rows of bee-hives. 
 
 When there was mourning in a family, a 
 bunch of crape was tied round the bee-hive. 
 Whatever might be neglected, old superstitions 
 were rigidly adhered to at Sadbrooke. But 
 if, instead of taking this road to the right.
 
 110 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the traveller continued his way down the 
 hill, he would have come to a stone bridge, 
 ivy-covered like the church, which lay so in 
 the hollow it could be scarcely discerned 
 from the top of the road. It was very 
 narrow, and unusually steep, the dip on 
 the other side being so sudden, and the 
 turn of the road to the left by the low 
 bank of the river so extremely sharp, that 
 a stranger driving in that place might have 
 found himself immersed in the Sad before 
 he thought he was well over the bridge. 
 
 " It was a nasty bit of road for certain," 
 was said of it ; " but folks should mind how 
 they drives." 
 
 There had been an accident at this corner 
 once. A farmer returning from market on 
 a very dark night ran the wheel of his 
 cart against the corner of the bridge, and, 
 being thrown out by the shock, his head
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. Ill 
 
 struck against the wall, and he was killed 
 on the spot. There was great commisera- 
 tion for himself and his bereaved family- 
 felt among the neighbours, but there was 
 no idea of altering the turn of the road. 
 
 " He should have had a lantern by right," 
 said one. 
 
 " His missis should have sent a boy out 
 wi' a light. That's what I always does,'" 
 said another. 
 
 Standing on this bridge was seen the 
 prettiest view of the church, the high ground 
 on which it was placed giving additional 
 height to the ivy-covered tower, and the 
 grey stones with many-coloured lichens 
 growing between them shewed from this 
 point to full perfection. 
 
 There was a cottage or two on the other 
 side of the bridge, their walls washed by 
 the waters of the Sad. One of these was
 
 112 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 vacant when James Knightly first came to 
 Sadbrooke ; it was afterwards inhabited by 
 Widow Brown. Sadbrooke has been de- 
 scribed as it was at the time of this story, 
 in many things it is changed, but many 
 others are unaltered. From the top of the 
 hill the blue sea may still be seen stretching 
 out to the far horizon, and the vessels still 
 sail in and out of tlie harbour of Sadport. 
 The Sad still winds its tortuous course, 
 meandering amid the undulating hills from 
 the distant spot where fancy pictures its 
 heathery home at Holywell, onward, past 
 villages and fields to where it joins its 
 waters with those of the deep sea. But 
 the down has been in great part inclosed, 
 and, instead of the yellow gorse that for- 
 merly shone in the spring sunlight, may 
 now be seen the green blade of the young 
 corn, and, instead of purple heather bells,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 113 
 
 the autumn breeze now sways backwards 
 and forwards large tracts of waving yellow 
 corn. The village itself is altered ; there 
 is a new bridge, and, though the turn is 
 still steep, it is no longer dangerous. The 
 hill, also, has been cut down; it is still 
 steep, but the ascent is far less precipitous. 
 There have been other changes ; the place 
 is altogether greatly improved, though not 
 more picturesque than it was formerly. 
 There are many pretty villages in England, 
 the land of quiet home scenes, but it would 
 be difficult to find one more truly English 
 than the little village of Sadbrooke. 
 
 «<^§^^ 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 ^,'^'-^"^'-^''^''^'-^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE RECTOR AND CURATE. 
 
 TN the last chapter an attempt was made 
 to describe the village of Sadbrooke, 
 and also the state in which it was found 
 by James Knightly. But any attempt to 
 describe the condition of the curate's mind 
 respecting it would be wholly fruitless. He 
 attempted to introduce one or two reforms, 
 innovations, they would have been called, 
 had the people been equal to using the 
 expression. Some of these fell to the ground — 
 others, like the sermon in the afternoon,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 115 
 
 were allowed, because they could not be 
 prevented. There having been no sermon 
 was the reason previously alleged by a 
 great many of the congregation for not 
 attending in the afternoon ; the length of 
 the service, now there was one, was ad- 
 duced as the cause of so many remaining 
 away. 
 
 "The parson meant well,'' said the far- 
 mers, " they'd nought to say agin him, 
 but there wasn't no going to sleep in com- 
 fort like now; and if a body did catch off 
 for a minute, he wor sure to wake up wi' 
 a start like." 
 
 So they preferred spending their after- 
 noons by their own firesides. 
 
 One thing he had done. By giving a 
 small salary to the woman who kept the 
 little school, he induced her to leave off 
 braiding in the morning, and to give her 
 
 i2
 
 116 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 undivided attention to her scholars. He 
 found her by no means incapable, and he 
 thought, with some instruction from himself, 
 this school would do for the girls and 
 younger children for the present, and he 
 went about continually in the parish urging 
 on the parents of the bigger boys the ne- 
 cessity of sending them to school at Sad- 
 borough. 
 
 Respecting these boys he was particularly 
 anxious. He thought there was a much 
 fairer chance of acting beneficially on young 
 minds than on those who, having lived all 
 their lives in one way, could not be ex- 
 pected easily to change. How to manage 
 a school for them was his constant thought ; 
 and, at last, determining to leave nothing 
 untried to effect his object, he came to a 
 resolution that, six weeks before this story 
 opens, sent him one morning rather early
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 117 
 
 to the rectory, to seek an interview with 
 Mr. Saxon. 
 
 A very pretty gable-built house was the 
 rectory, standing in its own grounds. 
 
 James Knightly was shown into the rec- 
 tor's study, who, in reply to his apologies 
 for intruding on him, greeted him kindly, 
 saying, 
 
 " Always happy to see you, Knightly." 
 
 But the words did not slip off his tongue 
 altogether with ease, for he had just written 
 the text for next Sunday's sermon — '^ Speak 
 every man truth to his neighbour ;" and 
 the real truth was that he always felt sure 
 a private interview with his curate meant 
 something that would go far to disturb 
 the quiet peace of mind which verily the 
 rector's soul loved. 
 
 The study was a pleasant room at the 
 back of the house, with a large window
 
 118 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 looking over a lawn, in which were shrubs 
 and flower-beds; a fine row of elms shaded 
 the room on the right, and the blue sea 
 glanced among the branches about half a 
 mile distant. At some little distance was 
 the harbour of Sadport, with the masts 
 and sails of the vessels full in view. It 
 Avas very pretty to see their white sails 
 catch the glow of the sunlight as they 
 sailed in and out, dancing in summer 
 merrily over the water, and an anxious thing 
 during a winter's gale to watch some 
 frail barque, and to know that the lives 
 of all on board depended on their reaching 
 that harbour ere the waning sun shut the 
 view of it from their sight. 
 
 A very pleasant room was the study — a 
 pleasant room to read in, or to write in, 
 or to study in, or to meditate in, or 
 (shall it be written ?) to doze in. There
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 119 
 
 was a writing-table, covered with books 
 and pamphlets, papers on parish matters, 
 club-tickets, notes for manuscript-sermons, 
 and like matters. There was also a very 
 comfortable-looking arm-chair in the study, 
 with a foot-stool before it. 
 
 The curate opened the conversation by 
 saying : 
 
 *' I am come to speak to you, Mr. Saxon, 
 about Sadbrooke, and to ask your advice 
 as to the best means for endeavouring to 
 effect some reform among the people?^' 
 
 '^Why, what's going wrong there, now, 
 Knightly ?'' asked the rector. ^^ I have 
 been quite comfortable respecting Sadbrooke 
 of late ; and, from what I hear as to the 
 manner in Avhich the church fills, I think 
 you should, indeed, be most thankful for 
 the measure of success God has vouchsafed 
 to your ministry."
 
 120 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 " It is respecting the school that I wanted 
 to speak to you," was the reply. ^' I find 
 it is almost useless to endeavour to get 
 the children to Sadborough ; and the boys 
 are so very riotous, I feel sure there will 
 be some mischief unless something is speedily 
 done for their benefit." 
 
 Now the rector knew quite as well as 
 his curate that a school was needed at 
 Sadbrooke, but whenever the thought would 
 come intrusively into his mind, he hushed it 
 to sleep, and rocked it as lovingly as possible. 
 
 "If the means could be provided, of 
 course I should be very pleased to see a 
 school established ; but as I do not see 
 any manner of procuring the requisite 
 funds, I think you must be satisfied with 
 trusting to God to impress upon the people 
 the truths which I am quite sure you put 
 before them from the pulpit."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 121 
 
 "My purpose in coming this morning, 
 Mr. Saxon, was simply to say, that, with 
 your permission, I will undertake the thing 
 myself." 
 
 The rector had known his curate from a 
 child ; he took almost a father's pride in 
 him, but it made him say pretty much 
 what he liked to him. 
 
 " What ! turn schoolmaster yourself, eh. 
 Knightly? That will be hard work in ad- 
 dition to the two sermons every week." 
 
 " I have not the slightest intention of 
 turnhig schoolmaster myself — certainly not 
 to boys in their class of life." 
 
 "Then you trust to the farmers to 
 assist you, I suppose ? Well, Knightly, you 
 are the most enthusiastic fellovvr I ever 
 knew !" said the rector. 
 
 Now, to tell a man who is working very 
 earnestly and practically he is enthusiastic,
 
 122 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 for no other reason than because he is 
 young, or because he is truly endeavour- 
 ing to act up to what he considers right, 
 is very much like saying that, in the matter 
 in question, the speaker regards him as a 
 fool. At least, this was the sense in which 
 it was understood by the curate of Sad- 
 brooke. 
 
 ^^ I know you think me very young and 
 very foolish," he replied; ^^enthusiastic, you 
 call it, but I am not sufficiently so to 
 rely in any way on the farmers — at least, 
 not at present. I will undertake the ex- 
 pense of the school myself." 
 
 But the rector had been irritated ; he had 
 not yet done with the system called by the 
 doctors counter-irritation. 
 
 *^ When I last saw you it was an organ 
 you were so anxious about," said he. 
 
 " I certainly must own that those bar-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 123 
 
 barous instruments in use in the churcli do 
 worry me intensely ; but I am so sure the 
 school is a real necessity, that I feel I 
 ought not for a moment to allow my own 
 dislike to bad music to stand in the way 
 of the advantage of these poor boys." 
 
 As has been noticed, Mr. Saxon was very 
 fond of his young curate ; he had acceded 
 to the proposition respecting the organ at 
 once ; the Knightlys were sufficiently wealthy 
 for him to have no scruples of conscience 
 about the matter ; it would be a decided 
 improvement to the church, and if James 
 liked to stint himself in pocket-money for 
 a time, it would do him no real harm. 
 But this offer of giving up a thing which 
 he really wished, and without a thought 
 that he was thereby doing anything par- 
 ticularly good, fairly won the rector's 
 heart.
 
 124 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 " Let us talk the matter over quietly, 
 James," he said. ^^ It was a very liberal 
 offer of yours to give a small organ to the 
 church, and as there appeared no difficulty 
 about getting it played, I was quite willing 
 to accede to the proposal ; but this is a 
 different thing — it will be a constant drag 
 to you, and, out of your small stipend of 
 eighty pounds a year, is really more than 
 I think you ought to give." 
 
 ^' I can do it very well," he replied. 
 *^I am too busy to spend money — I have 
 not even taken out a game certificate this 
 year ; and I did think of going back to 
 town with Hugh for a week or two, if you 
 could have spared me, but now I have got 
 interested about the school, I should not 
 like to leave ; so you see how very eco- 
 nomical it is to be busy !" 
 
 ^^ I am very glad you find it so," said
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 125 
 
 tlie rector, laughing ; " still it will not do 
 to build this tower without first counting 
 the cost. What do you calculate will be 
 the expense for a master ?" 
 
 " I know a man whom I can get for 
 twenty-five pounds a year, who, I think, 
 will do very well, with my superintendence ; 
 he wishes to improve himself, and will 
 gladly come for that sum ; and there is a 
 room, I believe they built it for another 
 chapel, but have never used it, that I 
 can have for a mere trifle." 
 
 ** What do you call a trifle ?" inquired 
 Mr. Saxon. 
 
 " Five pounds a year — not more, cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 " Then there are coals, candles, books, 
 and slates," said the cautious rector. 
 
 "I have thought of all that; the ex- 
 penses will not exceed forty pounds the
 
 126 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 first year, and will be less afterwards." 
 
 '' I shall make no further objection what- 
 ever," replied the rector, "and only regret 
 I cannot help you ; but the Sadborough 
 school is a great drag to me. I think, 
 however, you should certainly call on the 
 neighbouring gentry, and on the more 
 wealthy of the farmers ; it is their duty 
 to help in the matter, and they should 
 certainly be asked." 
 
 " I should much prefer doing it by my- 
 self." 
 
 " I have no doubt you would ; but 
 we must sometimes all of us do things we 
 do not like ; and I certainly think they 
 should be asked." 
 
 ** I will call on them, as you think so, 
 but have very little hope of gaining any 
 benefit by so doing," said James, and the 
 interview ended.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 127 
 
 Mr. Saxon remained some little time in 
 thought ; he could not expect to keep 
 such a man as his present curate very long 
 at Sadbrooke, and it would be scarcely 
 likely that another would be willing, or, 
 indeed, able to assist much with the school. 
 But he knew it was really needed, and 
 there was a way in which he could manage 
 about the funds. Although he had re- 
 quired his curate to ask for subscriptions, 
 it was a thing he never thought of doing 
 himself ; and the consequence of this was, 
 that the subscriptions to the school at 
 Sadborough were so small, that the hand- 
 some sum with which he headed the list 
 was a merely nominal one, the greater 
 part of the expenses being paid out of his 
 own pocket. 
 
 Still the Sadborough people were quite 
 able to maintain their own school ; and as
 
 128 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the rector was greatly respected, any 
 appeal from him was sure to be liberally 
 responded to. He was well aware of this ; 
 he much preferred at any time giving 
 himself, to asking others to give ; but 
 if he was really obliged to request sub- 
 scriptions for the Sadborough school, he 
 felt sure he should receive enough to free 
 himself from a burden, and leave him a 
 sufficiency to maintain the one at Sad- 
 brooke. 
 
 At all events, for the present, his ener- 
 getic curate would take all difficulties 
 off his hands, so he resumed his sermon, 
 with the thought there was no need to 
 meet troubles half way. 
 
 James went on pondering the interview 
 over in his mind ; he had disliked going 
 very much, and now he thought how 
 foolish he had been to have had any fear
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 129 
 
 respecting it. How very kind Mr. Saxon 
 had been, and acceded to his wishes al- 
 most immediately. What a very even-tem- 
 pered man he was ! — he wished he was so 
 himself. Mr. Saxon always implied he 
 would be just as quiet as himself when 
 he came to his age. He did not alto- 
 gether feel that he wished to be so — he 
 hoped he should always think the same 
 on many points as he did at present, 
 and do his utmost for the advancement of 
 his people, wherever his lot might lead 
 him. 
 
 There was something sad in the idea 
 that, as years went on, he should become 
 cold and indifferent ; he trusted earnestly 
 it would never be so ; but at the same 
 time, perhaps Mr. Saxon was right in say- 
 ing he was enthusiastic — he did not like 
 being called so — he considered himself very 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 practical. Well, the only way he could 
 show that it was not enthusiasm by which 
 he was guided, but a real earnest purpose, 
 was not to be turned aside lightly from 
 the task he had set himself. He did not 
 think he was likely to grow tired, but he 
 must expect to meet with disappointments, 
 and it was as well he should know what 
 people thought was his fault, because then 
 he could guard against it. But was the 
 entering with zeal into a good work any 
 reason why it should not last ? He thought 
 not. 
 
 Then there was another point ; he was 
 so very hasty-tempered — he had been so 
 near answering Mr. Saxon very sharply, 
 and that would not only have been very 
 wrong, but would perhaps have prevented 
 his rector giving his sanction to the pro- 
 posal — for he did think him a little ob-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 131 
 
 stinate sometimes. He was glad he had 
 not made any quick, sarcastic reply ; but 
 it was a very difficult thing often for 
 him not to do so. And now he had 
 the farmers to call on — a further trial for 
 his patience ; but he thought he should not 
 mind them much. 
 
 The first he went to was Farmer Stewart, 
 who occupied the farm opposite the church. 
 He was out superintending the ploughing. 
 The curate found him there, and began talk- 
 ing a little about the crops. 
 
 '' I called on you though. Farmer Stew- 
 art," he said, "to tell you that I am 
 thinking of opening a school ; the children 
 are running so wild, I consider it as very 
 much wanted ; and I come to inquire 
 whether you will not assist me with a small 
 subscription ?" 
 
 "No — no, Mr. Knightly," replied the 
 
 k2
 
 132 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 farmer, '' you keep your learning to your- 
 self. It's all very right that you should 
 have it, but let they boys alone, they'll never 
 be no good if you takes to teaching they." 
 
 " I cannot see, though," was the reply, 
 " why they should not work quite as well 
 if they knew how to read as if tliey do 
 not — there is a great deal of ignorance at 
 Sadbrooke." 
 
 '^ I daresay you think so, parson, but 
 you see you's but young. Why, I mind 
 when you used to come here arter black- 
 berries, and birds' nests, and what not ; 
 and it can't be expected as you knows 
 so well as they as have lived more years 
 in the world. You thinks 'twould be very 
 fine to make scholars of 'em all, but I 
 tell 'ee 'twill do no good ; you keep to 
 your preaching, and let they boys keep to 
 the plough."
 
 THE CLTcATE OF SaDBROOKE. 133 
 
 '^ I think you'll change your mind after 
 a time, farmer," was the reply. 
 
 "Don't you reckon on me changing, 
 Mr. Knightly ; and no offence, I hopes, my 
 refusing 'ee, but let the boys alone, and 
 take care of yourself, 'wi that fine colt o' 
 yourn ; you have him in hand capital, to 
 be sure, but he's a spirity creatur." 
 
 The farmer knew how to administer a 
 little judicious flattery — the curate was very 
 proud of the colt. 
 
 " He is a fine animal, and is getting 
 very quiet," he said. 
 
 And he forgave Farmer Stewart for 
 reminding him of the days when he went 
 birds nesting — it was so very long ago, he 
 had almost forgotten it himself. 
 
 The next person he called on was a 
 Mr. Jones. He formerly kept a small 
 grocery and general shop at Sadborough,
 
 1 34 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 but he had retired for some years. His 
 son had taken the business, which he had 
 very much mcreased, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Jones, senior, now lived at Sadbrooke. 
 
 It was a pretty little cottage enough, 
 and, on asking for i\Ir. Jones, the curate 
 was shown into a trim little parlour, with 
 some flower-pots in the window, in which 
 a few flowers were still in bloom. Pre- 
 sently Mr. Jones came in straight out of 
 his garden, which was his great delight. He 
 pulled off his gardening gloves, but retained 
 possession of the pruning-knife, with which 
 he had been very busily employed. It 
 was his chief employment and entertain- 
 ment, and. very proud was he of the 
 grapes and choice wall-fruit, which, by the 
 care and attention he bestowed, rivalled 
 those of his richer neighbours. He was 
 a round, sturdy, pleasant-looking little
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBEOOKE. 135 
 
 man, with a face like one of his own 
 cherry-cheeked apples, beaming with good- 
 nature and self-importance. 
 
 "Very glad to see you, sir; always 
 happy to see my clergyman," was his salu- 
 tation. 
 
 " I'm afraid I am bringing you in from 
 your garden, Mr. Jones." 
 
 " Don't you say nothing about that. 
 I've plenty of time for that, and to talk 
 a bit to you too." 
 
 "It's beautiful weather, is it not?" said 
 his visitor. 
 
 " Be-au-ti-ful weather, Mr. Knightly. 
 I'm getting on with my pruning, and I 
 hope, if you honour me with a call when 
 the fruit's ripe, I shall be able to offer you 
 as good a peach as ever you've got at 
 Fairleigh; but I've got to do most of my 
 work myself ; not a boy to be had in the
 
 136 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 place, if you'll believe me, sir, that I can 
 trust to do as much as a bit of weeding ; 
 they pull up the flowers, and won't work; 
 they're an ignorant set, as, I am sure, 
 none can know better than you." 
 
 This seemed like a good opening. 
 
 " It's about that very thing I called 
 here this morning. I am very anxious, if 
 I can, to establish a school. Mr. Saxon 
 and myself have been talking it over, and 
 have decided there must be an attempt 
 made, and I hope that yourself, and the re- 
 sidents at Sadbrooke generally, will assist 
 in the undertaking." 
 
 " I'm not against teaching them some 
 things, Mr. Knightly/' was the reply, ^' such 
 as how to weed a garden, or anything 
 like that, but as to book-learning, you fol- 
 low the advice of one who has lived many 
 years longer in the world than you have.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 137 
 
 and don't you trouble yourself about teach- 
 ing them boys." 
 
 He was flourishing his pruning-knife as 
 he spoke, and gave it a sort of jerk at the 
 conclusion of this speech, as though he 
 would intimate the boys were of no use 
 but to be thrown into the corner. 
 
 ^•'I intend to open the school, 1 assure 
 you, Mr. Jones, and can only say I should 
 be very glad of your co-operation. I am 
 anxious about the matter." 
 
 " Very com-mend-able, indeed, for a 
 young man — a very com-mend-able thing, 
 indeed, I can't help saying that, though I 
 don't expect to see any good come from it, 
 I really don't," said Mr. Jones. 
 
 The natural tendency of his disposition 
 to see the droll side of things probably 
 served the curate in good stead. Some 
 men so young as he was might have felt
 
 138 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 annoyed at this tone of patronage, and con- 
 sidered their dignity aggrieved, but he never 
 troubled himself on that account, though it 
 did cost him an effort to restrain the 
 smile that, do what he would to prevent 
 it, puckered the corners of his lips as he 
 replied— 
 
 " I am glad you think it right I should 
 try. You know as the bough is bent, so 
 will it probably grow ; and I hope I shall 
 take at least as much pains with my school 
 as you take with your garden." 
 
 *^ Well, now, if you're not in a hurry, 
 I'll tell you what comes of poor boys learn- 
 ing," said Mr. Jones. 
 
 And his visitor resigned himself to 
 listen. 
 
 *'When I kept that shop, you know, in 
 Sadborough, where you used to come and 
 buy marbles — and very hard you were to
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 139 
 
 please — I had a boy once to run errands, 
 and carry out parcels ; a good sort of boy he 
 was, and I gave him a shilling a week, and 
 he earned it honestly enough. But he was 
 one of that sort who want to improve, and 
 though there were not many schools then, 
 he did manage to learn ; and I didn't much 
 mind at first, because he could read direc- 
 tions, and them sort of things. But then, 
 'twasn't long he'd stop for a shilling a week ; 
 and he got a higher place, and now, Mr. 
 Knightly, perhaps you don't believe me, 
 but he's got a shop of his own now most 
 as good as my son's ; and that's what comes 
 of teaching boys, and setting them above 
 their betters — I don't consider it right." 
 
 ^^ I do not think we need fear such a 
 thing happening often, though," said the 
 curate, the slight smile coming back to his 
 mouth. '' Boys are not in general over-
 
 140 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 fond of learning, but I wish to teach 
 them a little, and I hope you will find it 
 will not injure them in any way." 
 
 ^' Well, we shall see — we shall see," said 
 Mr. Jones, reflectively ; '' and to please you, 
 sir, who I've known from a child, I don't 
 mind trying one of the boys to Aveed again, 
 if you wish it — I have got a waste plot to 
 be cleared." 
 
 '^ Of course I shall be very glad if you 
 employ any of them ; it will be a very 
 good thing, and you must come some day 
 and look in at the school." 
 
 " I shan't mind doing that, and thank you 
 for calling, Mr. Knightly, which is more than 
 Mr. Grey did all the time he was here ; and I 
 hope to see you again at my little place, when 
 the green-house is looking better, and that 
 you won't forget to look in at the peaches." 
 
 Certainly James Knightly was experi-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 141 
 
 'encing the truth of the saying, that a 
 prophet has no honour in his own country ; 
 to have the bird-nesting and marble 
 pLaying of his early days remembered in 
 this manner was hard, but he could not 
 see it was any reason for his giving up the 
 school. He called at several other places, 
 and also on some of the gentry who owned 
 the land. He was received better by some 
 than others, but he could see all had much 
 the same idea of him as Mr. Saxon and 
 Farmer Stewart — that he was young and 
 enthusiastic. He spent three mornings at 
 this work, and collected five pounds. It 
 was rather a trial of patience to one Tvho, 
 perhaps, had not much naturally to boast 
 of ; and he certainly was young, and per- 
 haps rather ardent ; so, although he expected 
 disappointment, still the many refusals fell 
 chill. The ^ve pounds had taken him
 
 142 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 three mornings to collect — time enough, 
 more than enough, to have written his 
 sermons for the next Sunday — time enough 
 for him to have done some amount of 
 reading, for when he left college he deter- 
 mined he would not give up study. And 
 instead of all this he had wasted — no, 
 spent, this time in calling on uncongenial 
 people, who had most of them been disa- 
 greeable, and getting five pounds ! But 
 what right had he to call them uncongenial ? 
 — they might not suit him in all respects, 
 but they were those among whom his lot 
 was cast for the present, and it was his 
 simple duty he had been doing; he had no 
 right to consider he had given up anything 
 in so spending his time — it was his plain 
 work ; he could read and write of an eve- 
 ning, and he had managed to ride the colt 
 an hour or two every day — people generally
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBKOOKE. 143 
 
 do find time for what they like ; and now 
 these visits being all paid, the next 
 morning he would take him out in the gig. 
 As to all that had been said, it did not 
 sway him in the least, nor turn him one 
 inch from his purpose ; he was determined 
 there should be a school at Sadbrooke, and 
 if it only required a little activity and 
 self-denial on his part, that was a mere 
 nothing, and a week after Christmas the 
 school was opened. 

 
 ^ ® ® * >U * ].j/ * V;/ * >U * ^ (§) ® 4> 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE COVEY or PARTRIDGES. 
 
 TT was a week after Cliristoias, the day 
 for opening the schooh It was a fine 
 morning, cold and frosty, but very pleasant ; 
 and Hugh said at breakfast he was going 
 out for a day's shooting. Cecil offered to 
 accompany him, and he asked James if he 
 could not for once give up his other occu- 
 pations and come with them. But, as he 
 had told Mr. Saxon, he was too busy to 
 give up any time that year to shooting, 
 and had therefore taken out no game cer-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 145 
 
 tificate, he thought the riding the colt 
 would be quite exercise enough for him ; 
 and it appeared just a thing in which he 
 could practise self-denial without injuring 
 anyone else — not always an easy thing to 
 effect — and he really wished to devote his 
 time to the school. But it was self-denial, 
 as Hugh inferred from the rather sharp 
 manner in which he replied, 
 
 " You know I do not intend to shoot 
 this year ; I have no certificate, and am 
 going to Sadbrooke." 
 
 *' Just as you like,^' said Hugh, in a 
 cool provoking manner. 
 
 *' You had better come, Jem," said 
 Cecil ; " and just pop at the sparrows in 
 the hedges to keep your hand in, and 
 prevent Hugh having the best of it when 
 next you try together." 
 
 Now this thought had passed through 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 James's own mind. He by no means intended 
 to iDecome a hunting and shooting parson, 
 and life was becoming too real a thing for 
 him to be easily turned aside from his pur- 
 pose; still the idea of not being able to 
 bring down a bird when he wished, was 
 rather a painful one, so he said, half angrily, 
 
 '^ It is very foolish of you, Cecil, to try 
 iind persuade me, as if I were so easily 
 moved from my determination. I shall not 
 lire a shot this year, and when I say a thing 
 I intend to keep to it ; but if, as I suppose, 
 you are going my way, we can start together." 
 
 They set off, enjoying the clear frosty air, 
 and going on together for about a mile, when 
 the two younger brothers turned off from 
 the road, and the curate proceeded alone to 
 Sadbrooke. He wondered whether any boys 
 liad gone to his school. As he drew near, 
 he heard a loud noise, and, coming closer.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 147 
 
 saw a troop of boys standing in the road. 
 "Here be the parson a-comed his-self," he 
 heard called out loudly, and they rushed off 
 and went clattering in a most disorderly 
 manner into the room. There was work 
 enough for him to do here certainly ; he 
 forgot all his regrets about the shooting in 
 a moment, and followed the boys into the 
 scene of confusion which the school-room then 
 presented. The master came out to meet 
 him, a meek, quiet-looking little man. He 
 had been a small tradesman, but had failed 
 in business, and, having quite knowledge 
 enough of plain things, thought he would 
 try and commence teaching. But he knew 
 nothing of the way to enforce order, and this 
 morning his new duties overwhelmed him. 
 He had been previously very anxious as to 
 his meeting with the curate ; he had heard 
 he was very strict and particular, but when 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE CUKATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the riotous boys of Sadbrooke came trooping 
 in with a desire to make a row if they could 
 do so, each looking forward to the prospect 
 with great delight, the master began to hope 
 he should not be left to manage them alone, 
 and yet very much afraid if Mr. Knightly 
 came in just then, he would think the noise 
 was his fault, and that he ought to have 
 quieted it. But Mr. Knightly thought no- 
 thing of the sort; he expected the school 
 to be a good deal of trouble at first, and was 
 quite ready to make excuses for the wild 
 spirits that were so unused to being curbed ; 
 and though he was bent on reducing them 
 to order, he was not to be surprised by any 
 conduct however outrageous. A few words 
 spoken to the master in his pleasant winning 
 manner set the poor man quite at his ease, 
 and the business of the morning commenced. 
 He first spoke a few words to the boys.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 149 
 
 telling them it bad grieved him to see them 
 idling about as they did, and be had opened 
 the school in hopes they might benefit by 
 some instruction. 
 
 Some of them, he knew, bad been to 
 school at Sadborough ; they, he hoped, would 
 go on steadily; others had not had the same 
 advantage, but, now it was offered them, 
 they must do their best to improve ; if they 
 tried, he was sure they would soon get on. 
 He trusted to their being good boys, quiet 
 and steady, and not giving himself or the 
 master more trouble tlian they could help, 
 and he trusted God's blessing would be upon 
 the school. He looked so grave, they were 
 a little awed, and, with the exception of a 
 few kicks and pushes to each other, kept 
 quiet ; but then it was only for a few minutes, 
 they could not have done so long. 
 
 Then began an examination as to the
 
 150 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 amount of knowledge possessed by each. It 
 was little enough, though some could read 
 tolerably; and when they came to be put 
 in classes, it so happened that many of 
 the younger boys took the top places, an 
 arrangement which gave great dissatisfaction, 
 Avhich, although it was not loudly expressed, 
 was very discernible. 
 
 But now the curate's real kindness, which, 
 from his stern look, they hardly believed 
 in, was discovered even by the boys them- 
 selves ; he spoke so pleasantly — told them 
 that if it liad not been their own fault 
 they were ignorant, they were not to blame; 
 that now they might learn if they chose ; 
 they had the offer of getting on given them, 
 and he felt sure they would do very well. 
 And many determined to try ; they liked 
 him to speak kindly to them — and school 
 began in earnest.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBKOOKE. 151 
 
 He then took the class for Bible-reading; 
 he was very simple in his explanations, and 
 took real pains to prevent the reading 
 being a task ; and for a little while it went 
 on tolerably, and some of the boys ap- 
 peared interested, but there were others who 
 had come principally with the view of 
 having some fun, and the class became 
 very disturbed. One of these boys, Jem 
 Brown, the only son of Widow Brown, 
 whose acquaintance we made in Sun Court, 
 was particularly troublesome ; he was much 
 older than the generality of the boys, and 
 had only come now at the express desire 
 of the curate that he would, while he was 
 out of work, try to spend his time more 
 profitably than in loitering about the streets. 
 And now that he was come, James EJiightly 
 almost wished him away again, he was so 
 turbulent, that the others who were in-
 
 152 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 clined to be quiet, and were now some- 
 what frightened, were, to say the least, 
 very inattentive; and, at hist, at a ridicu- 
 lous answer that was given to some simple 
 question, the curate shut the book, saying 
 tliat in their present state of mind he 
 should not allow them to read the Scrip- 
 tures. 
 
 Soon after twelve o'clock struck. There 
 was a wild rush made, first for their caps, 
 and then to the door. 
 
 " Come back V was called out, in the 
 fullest tones of the curate's deep voice, and 
 they did not dare disobey. 
 
 They were made to leave in quieter 
 order, and the master gave a sigh of 
 relief at the prospect of a little peace. James 
 talked over the conduct of the boys with him 
 for a short time ; it was much better, he said, 
 than he expected; they had run so wild,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 153 
 
 there would be need of great patience 
 with them for some time ; they must be 
 got into order, of course, but he particu- 
 larly wished not to make them dislike 
 school ; it ought to be regarded by them 
 as an advantage offered them, and he did 
 not wish to lose any of the boys. He 
 was afraid Jem Brown was a bad boy; but 
 this was a chance for him ; he requested 
 the master to look well after him. The 
 man promised to do so, but said he hardly 
 knew how he should get on alone. 
 
 ^^ I do not think you could, just at 
 present,'' was the reply ; " but I have 
 a few visits to pay in the village, and 
 will look in during the afternoon ; and I 
 shall come every day this week, and by 
 the end I expect to see it in very different 
 order." 
 
 As he went through the street he saw a
 
 154 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 boy who had not been at school ; he in- 
 qmred the reason. 
 
 " Don't know/' was the unsatisfactory 
 reply. 
 
 " Where do you live ?" he asked. 
 
 The boy pointed out the cottage. It 
 was a dirty, wretched-looking place, the 
 floor actually covered with children ; the 
 mother was Avashing in the laziest manner 
 possible. 
 
 "Do none of your children go to school ?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 "No, they haven't got no clothes vitty," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "What they have on would do very 
 well, if you were to wash and mend 
 them." 
 
 "I can't wash no harder than I does," 
 said she. 
 
 "You would not have to wash so hard
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 155 
 
 if these children were out of your way, 
 and it would be a great advantage to 
 them." 
 
 " Say ?" was asked, interrogatively. 
 
 He tried to put his meaning into plainer 
 language. 
 
 '^ It would be a good thing for those 
 children, especially for your eldest boy, to 
 go to school. You would like him to know 
 how to read ?" 
 
 "I can't read, why for should he?'' 
 was the answer. 
 
 But after a little more conversation, 
 she promised she would send mayhap one 
 or two on 'em. 
 
 Going further, a decent-looking woman 
 came out to speak to him. 
 
 "You've a-put Sam down in the lowest 
 class, sir — it's what he don't like, nor I 
 nother, nor none of us !"
 
 156 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 She began by making a curtsey, and 
 speaking very softly — rather timidly ; but 
 her courage increased as she went on, and 
 she was quite angry by the time her short 
 speech was finished. 
 
 '^ He scarcely knows his letters — he must 
 at least learn them before he can be put 
 in a higher class." 
 
 ^' He's up fourteen, and we's decent 
 folks. I don't like for he to be kept 
 down !" 
 
 ** I have not the least wish to keep 
 him down. I hope, as you are so anxious 
 about his being in a higher class, he will 
 try and get on — will you not, Sam?" 
 said he, addressing the boy, who was 
 hiding behind his mother. 
 
 He gave no answer, and the curate 
 went on thinking they were really almost 
 hopeless people at Sadbrooke.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 157 
 
 He had a few sick people to visit. 
 From some of these he learned far more 
 than, young as he was, he was capable 
 of teaching, and willingly did he own 
 that such was the case ; and that, was it 
 not for the help he received from the 
 poor themselves, he should be quite unable 
 to continue his work. 
 
 Then there were some old people he 
 wished to sec (recipients of Eobinson's 
 bread), of a class to whom the visit of 
 the clergyman is chiefly agreeable, from 
 the hope that he will not come empty- 
 handed ; and liberal as he was, almost to 
 a fault, this sort of thing revolted his 
 feelings extremely. Yet were these com- 
 mitted in some measure to his charge, 
 and he felt, with all the earnestness of 
 his deep nature, the responsibility that 
 must rest on him, unless he continued
 
 158 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 instant in and out of season preaching the 
 Gospel. 
 
 He called in again at the school — there 
 were but few boys present ; he inquired 
 after them at their respective homes. Some 
 were out weeding, or watching corn ; others 
 had found half a day's schooling quite 
 enough for them. He began to wonder 
 whether he really should ever establish a 
 school. 
 
 Altogether, not unlikely, in fact, from 
 some fault in himself, this visit to the 
 village appeared rather a failure ; he felt 
 within himself a deep yearning for better 
 things. And how were these high aspira- 
 tions pulled down by hearing naughty 
 boys spell easy words of one or two 
 syllables, and by reading the words of 
 Holy Scripture to ears and hearts that 
 seemed sealed to their true meaning.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 159 
 
 He had quite forgotten his shooting ; 
 but his heart was rather sad. Was he 
 not fitted for something higher than this? 
 — was he never to do any real work? 
 The idea of a wider sphere, of mission- 
 ary enterprise, of following in the steps of 
 a Martin or a Schwartz rose visibly before 
 his mental vision ; and forgetting that 
 distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 and that hearts in heathen lands are 
 equally hard as in England, until they 
 have received higher teaching than any 
 that belongs to earth, and that there 
 would be ignorant old people, and un- 
 manageable young ones, under a burning 
 sky as well as under a cool one, the 
 curate began seriously to think of relhi- 
 quishing Sadbrooke, and going abroad as a 
 missionary to the heathen. 
 
 He was indulging in this day-dream, and
 
 160 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 almost settling his future destination, when 
 he saw Hugh and Cecil in a field at some little 
 distance from the place where he had left 
 them in the morning, and Hugh called him 
 to come and see how many birds he had 
 bagged. He went in, and Hugh gave him 
 his gun, saying — 
 
 *^Just hold it for a moment, Jem. I 
 think I hear wheels in the road down 
 below, and I want to see whether it is 
 my father and Hamilton returning from 
 Chesterton." 
 
 He gave him his gun, but had scarcely 
 gone more than a few steps, when, bang! 
 bang ! was heard, and a brace of part- 
 ridges fell dead on the field. A hand 
 on his shoulder, a few words about his 
 certificate, a laugh from Hugh and Cecil, 
 and the unfortunate curate was enlighten- 
 ed as to the cause of his being entrusted
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 161 
 
 with the gun, just at the rDoment that 
 the impatient black Fan, no longer restrained 
 by Cecil, raised a covey of birds. 
 
 Now, to a little-minded man, one who 
 was always thinking of his own importance, 
 and setting himself up as an example to 
 the rest, these ever-recurring tricks and 
 annoyances would have become almost un- 
 bearable. 
 
 But James Knightly was one of a very 
 different class. It is not too much to say 
 that for one moment he was intensely 
 angry ; but it scarcely required another 
 second to make him aware that in justice 
 his anger ought to fall on himself rather 
 than on his brothers. Very quietly, there- 
 fore, he commenced reloading the gun, and 
 bending over it until he was sure every 
 trace of anger and vexation had passed 
 away from his face. Then handing it back 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 to Hugh, with his usual frank smile, he 
 said — 
 
 '^ It is quite evident that I am not 
 in any way proof against temptation. I 
 shall have these partridges stuffed." 
 
 And taking them from Cecil, who had 
 picked them up, he walked away through 
 the field. 
 
 Although a short time before he had 
 been feeling himself too good for the 
 people at Sadbrooke, this was far from 
 his usual estimate of himself, as his fre- 
 quent speech was that he was too young 
 and insignificant to be capable of exert- 
 ing anything like influence. 
 
 One day, when Mr. Saxon entered on 
 the subje(it, and assured him that the way 
 lie was working at Sadbrooke was the 
 best training he could have for a sphere 
 (^f more extended influence, his reply was —
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 163 
 
 " I assure you I have no influence, 
 or, at most, it must be very small ; and 
 I prefer it should be so. I feel sure, 
 had I any, I should inevitably use it 
 wrong/' 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this idea, he had 
 great influence in his family, and notwith- 
 standing the partridges, that influence never 
 stood higher with his brothers for good 
 than it did at that moment. All the 
 young Knightlys were sufliciently firm of 
 purpose to be aware that it is a very 
 trying thing for a man to be led in 
 a thoughtless moment into doing a thing 
 that he had previously determined not to 
 do ; and they well knew, also, that their 
 brother was deeply, or, as they sometimes 
 called it, ridiculously conscientious. Be- 
 sides, Hugh had seen the furrow on his 
 always rather stern brow, and the strong 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 compression of his lips, as he reloaded 
 the gun ; and none knew better than he 
 that there was a small volcano in the 
 bosom of James Knightly, however much 
 it was generally hidden from view. 
 
 But the great reason why, notwithstand- 
 ing what they called his unnecessary strict- 
 ness, their eldest brother was such a favou- 
 rite with all was that he so rarely blamed 
 any one but himself ; and let them tease 
 him as they would, he never indulged in 
 petty recriminations or those foolish little 
 lecturings which do so much more harm 
 than good. Even now, with the feeling 
 strong upon him that he had been trapped 
 into doing what he had made up his mind 
 not to do, there was nothing like reproach 
 on his lips or in his looks. There was only 
 love in the deep clear eye that fell full on 
 Hugh, and threw a passing glance on Cecil,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 165 
 
 as he gave back the gun and took the 
 birds. 
 
 Was it, then, any wonder that a charac- 
 ter like this, of such unfeigned humility 
 united to such lofty aspirations, had in 
 their quieter moments acquired a power 
 that was almost fascination over those 
 young hearts. They followed him, with 
 their eyes to the gate, and Hugh s.aid — 
 
 ^^Jem is a downright good fellow, Cecil. 
 I know he thinks we tempted him to do 
 wrong, though he didn't say so; and I 
 suppose we did. If he stuiFs those birds, 
 as he certainly will, they ought to be 
 hung where we could look at them too." 
 
 And so ended the joke, losing completely 
 its character for being one, from the man- 
 ner in which it had l)een taken. 
 
 The curate walked briskly over the 
 hard ground ; he wished to reach home in
 
 'iG6 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 time to take the colt out for a canter 
 before dark. Tlie unusual ideas of self- 
 importance Avliich had made his morning so 
 uncomfortable were now scattered to the 
 four winds ; and as he went on he thanked 
 God that liis sphere was such a small 
 one. 
 
 He earnestly hoped the time would 
 come wlien he should be very different 
 from what he now was ; but at present 
 it would not be right to trust him with 
 any influence — the little he did possess he 
 used so exceedingly wrong.
 
 KV::?-K 
 
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 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COLT IN HARNESS. 
 
 rPHE Wilmot girls dined that day at Fair- 
 leigh, and before leaving it was de- 
 cided among tlie young people, including 
 Alice and Hamilton, that they would all 
 take a long walk the next morning; the 
 ostensible purpose being to look at some 
 pointer pups that Hugh was desirous to 
 possess. 
 
 '^ You will come with us, James, of 
 course ?'' said Hamilton. 
 
 Now, to say no to this proposal was
 
 168 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 about the hardest task that could have 
 fallen to the lot of the young curate ; 
 but he had promised to go to Sadbrooke, 
 and he was determined to keep his ap- 
 pointment. Besides, the very motive that 
 would have induced most other men to go 
 made him that morning keep firmly to 
 his resolution of going the other way. He 
 liad noticed Hugh's start of admiration when, 
 on tlie niglit of his arrival, his glance first 
 fell on Maude Wilmot. 
 
 She had been always a very pretty girl, 
 but, not yet eighteen, the last six months 
 had wonderfully changed the character of 
 her beauty. As she has been already de- 
 scribed, however, there is no need to bring 
 the young lady again under particular notice. 
 
 The jealous eye of the lover had watched 
 keenly her every movement for the last 
 week, when in Hugh's presence, and he
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 169 
 
 began to fancy she really did like talking 
 to his brother, who, wholly guileless him- 
 self in the matter, never strove to hide 
 the fact that he was intensely happy 
 when he had her all to himself for a tete-a- 
 tete. 
 
 So the curate thought, if Maude had 
 not learnt to love him all the time that 
 he had been in the habit of seeing her 
 daily, there could be no reason why he 
 should care for her ; and it could be of no 
 consequence whatever to him her taking 
 a walk with his brother — indeed, it was 
 only fair he should have his chance. 
 And having argued himself into this state 
 of mind, he felt quite sure that he pre- 
 ferred going to Sadbrooke, and that he 
 did not at all wish to join the walking 
 party. 
 
 So the refusal of the evening was re-
 
 170 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 peated the next morning. He had spent 
 a somewhat wretched night, but it had not 
 changed his resolution ; and he set oiF by 
 himself to the school. 
 
 As he w^ent on his way, his thoughts 
 would, however, continually refer to the 
 subject. He remembered the day, a few 
 weeks before, when he had met Maude ; 
 other people had thought it very cold 
 and cheerless, but it was set down in his 
 memory as a peculiarly bright morning. 
 To-day was certainly fair and sunny, but 
 he almost shivered as he went along the 
 road. He was almost angry with Maude ; 
 she ought to have asked him to go — he 
 knew the time when she w^ould have done 
 so ; and he had not noticed the wistful 
 look of her blue eye, as she waited to 
 hear his reply to Hamilton. 
 
 Then he felt quite angry with himself.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 171 
 
 Why had he not settled the matter before 
 Hugh's return ? He had felt so sure of 
 her affection, that he had gone on from 
 day to day living in the present, and 
 never thinking any one could come be- 
 tween them. And now he thought what 
 a fool he had been ! And yet he was 
 glad, too, there was no engagement be- 
 tween them — if their hearts were not 
 turned to each other, he should not care 
 even for Maude's hand. No, if she did 
 not love him, so it must be. He could 
 not make' himself any different — he should 
 learn not to care for a woman who had 
 either no heart to bestow, or had bestowed 
 it on another. 
 
 Then he thought again what a nice fellow^ 
 Hugh was — no wonder if Maude liked him ; 
 he only just needed a purpose in life to 
 make him everything that was excellent.
 
 172 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Maude (who, he had just said to him- 
 self, had no heart at all) was, he felt 
 sure, the very girl to make him happy ; 
 and when he remembered how, till just of 
 late, Maude used to listen to him, and 
 hang on his words, attend to all his advice, 
 and his plans for doing good, he thought 
 lie had certainly some influence over her, 
 and perhaps it might re-act on Hugh. 
 Yes, she certainly listened to him ; but 
 that was because she perhaps looked up 
 to his position — it w\as not love ; he was 
 too strict in his ideas to inspire such a 
 feeling in a young girl. He had cer- 
 tainly marked out a lonely path for him- 
 self, but he could not change now. 
 
 He hoped Hugh and Maude would be 
 very happy ; and for himself, after he 
 had worked a little longer at Sadbrooke, 
 he should go out as a missionary.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 173 
 
 And yet all this time, oh ! foolish James 
 Knightly, the morning's walk was little 
 less lonely to Maude than it was to 
 yourself. 
 
 But a school of unruly boys is no 
 place in which to indulge a lover's reverie. 
 There was a large attendance — more than 
 there were on the preceding day. The 
 school Avould he a success after all ! He 
 began with the ciphering, trying to sim- 
 plify it in a Avay the boys thought ex- 
 tremely difficult : 
 
 '^ Now, boys," said he, '' take the ninth 
 line in the multiplication table ; you will 
 find that, multiply nine as often as you 
 will, the figures will always again add so 
 as to become nine, or a multiple of nine — 
 for instance, nine times three ?" 
 
 " Twenty-seven !" shouted a boy. 
 
 ^^ Seven and two ?" asked the curate.
 
 174 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 '' Nine !" replied one of the boys. 
 
 *^ Nine times five ?" 
 
 " Fortv-five." 
 
 '^Five and four?" 
 
 ^^ Ten !" screamed one boy. 
 
 " Twelve !" shouted another. 
 
 The curate looked stern ; when one little 
 boy, quite by guess, happily suggested 
 nine, for which he went to the top of the 
 class, but speedily came down again. 
 
 The lesson was repeated over and over, 
 and the same mistakes were made ; but the 
 boys had a sort of idea they ought gene- 
 rally to say nine, and although this did not 
 help much, yet, with the aid of a slate and 
 a little patient explanation, one or two of 
 the sharper ones got some insight into 
 what was intended to be taught. 
 
 Then the curate went to the large black 
 board in the centre of the room, and, with
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 175 
 
 the class around him, proceeded to draw 
 a rough outline of the British Isles, with 
 the opposite coast of France. 
 
 " In what country do we live ?" asked 
 the curate. 
 
 They did not know what he meant ; at 
 last one contrived to read the letters he 
 had written very large. 
 
 *^ England !" he called out. 
 
 It was a lucky hit ; and on being told 
 he was right, he poked the boy next him 
 with his elbow, and laughed, as informa- 
 tion that it was so. 
 
 " England is divided into counties ; in 
 what county do we live ?" was the next 
 question. 
 
 The previous happy guess had upset their 
 gravity. 
 
 *^ Sadbrooke!" said one, with great decision, 
 and attempted to go to the top of the class.
 
 176 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 *^ Sadbrooke bean't the county, Sadborougli 
 be the county, and Sadbrooke be the chief 
 town," said another, pushing the first one 
 down. 
 
 The curate was ahnost out of patience 
 — they were l)ehaving undoubtedly very ill. 
 
 ^^The next boy who gives such an an- 
 swer shall be caned," said he, sternly. 
 
 There were no more answers. 
 
 *'The- boy who does not answer when I 
 speak shall be caned," quoth the curate. 
 
 There w^ere more mistakes, but not quite 
 such outrageous ones. He had left the 
 Scripture reading to the last, hoping the 
 boys would be quieter ; and there certainly 
 was a much greater appearance of outward 
 respect than the day before. 
 
 Having finished with the first class, he 
 left them with some lessons, taking the 
 second class, while the master put the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 177 
 
 younger children together and endeavoured 
 to get them into something like order. 
 Presently the curate's practised ear caught 
 a well-known sound. He looked up, and 
 saw that a boy of the first class, whose 
 back was towards him, was stooping down 
 and looking at something between his 
 knees. He knew it was a top spinning. 
 He got up, went quietly behind the boy, 
 and put his hand firmly on his shoulder. 
 The boy started, and looked up terrified ; 
 the top spun a little, and fell on its 
 side. 
 
 " Stand up, Sykes," said he. '' Why 
 did you spin that top?" 
 
 The boy said nothing, but began to 
 cry. 
 
 '^ I insist on your speaking," continued 
 the curate. 
 
 ''Plase, sir," said the boy, blubbering, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 ^^ I didn't a-raean to do it — I never a- 
 th ought a-doing it. I leaved my own top 
 at home ; 'twere Jem Brown as a-gied me 
 his'n." 
 
 A flash of something very like drollery 
 shot from the curate's dark eyes ; it was 
 unseen by any one, but he felt it was 
 there. He remembered the partridges yes- 
 terday. He made the boy pick up the top 
 and give it to him, and then sent both 
 him and Jem Brown up to the master to 
 be caned, and resumed his seat with the 
 younger class. 
 
 " Do you know who made you ?" was 
 his question. 
 
 " Say ?" was the inquiry of a big, 
 stupid-looking boy. 
 
 The question was repeated. 
 
 '' Don't know." 
 
 He told them. He tried to explain, in
 
 THE CURATE OF 3ADBR00KE. 179 
 
 the most simple way, the first truths of 
 religion. One or two knew a little, but 
 he had hardly expected to find so much 
 ignorance ; and these were not all of them 
 young children — they were, many of them, 
 big boys, but they had never been taught. 
 They had been in the habit of spending 
 the week round, Sundays and all, in scar- 
 ing birds away from the com, and no one 
 had cared that they should know how to 
 do anything else. 
 
 It was soon time to dismiss the school. 
 He told them he expected them all to 
 come in the afternoon; and they left much 
 qideter than the day before. 
 
 The curate set out on his return home. Some 
 thoughts of the walking party would still in- 
 trude, but he endeavoured to take a retrospect 
 of what he had been doing. He thought 
 one sharp little boy had got some clue as
 
 180 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 to the mystery of number nine ; he had 
 not yet quite unravelled it, but when he 
 learned the table at home, he would 
 probably get some clearer insight into the 
 matter. 
 
 Then several had learned that London 
 was the capital of England, and Paris of 
 France, and that the sea on which they 
 saw the ships sailing when they went to 
 Sadport was the English Channel, that 
 divided the two countries. He thought 
 the Avhole of the first class had learned 
 that the Jews lived formerly in the land 
 of Canaan, and he hoped one particularly 
 bright boy had unlearned his theory that 
 they were the old people who once lived 
 in England, and were turned out when the 
 Christians came in. 
 
 He had given them a text of Scripture, 
 which he insisted they should learn perfectly.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 181 
 
 to be repeated to him the next day ; and 
 he earnestly hoped the time might come 
 when the words he had put into their 
 heads might, by higher teaching, be made 
 to sink down into their hearts. Besides all 
 this, he had become the possessor of three 
 tops, four pieces of string, and about a 
 dozen and a half marbles, all of which 
 were now locked up in the school desk. 
 He had sent up five boys to the master 
 to be caned ; all of whom, with the excep- 
 tion of Jem Brown, had afterwards treated 
 liim with so much more respect, that lie 
 felt in future they would be his allies on 
 the side of order. 
 
 The school was in a fair way of being 
 reduced to a state of obedience, a matter 
 which he felt sure the master could never 
 have effected alone, without having ex- 
 pelled some of the bigger boys, a thing
 
 182 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 lie was most anxious to prevent, if pos- 
 sible. 
 
 On the whole, the two hours had been 
 spent very satisfactorily, probably not the 
 less so from the fact that, in coming at 
 all, most truly the curate had caned him- 
 self pretty severely that morning. 
 
 Lunch was on the table Avhen he entered 
 the dining-room, but the walking party 
 were not returned. They soon came in, 
 but as they had left the Wilmot girls 
 at their own house by the way, the room 
 seemed nearly as empty to James as before, 
 though there Avas decidedly more noise. 
 Cecil gave him an account of their walk, 
 and he tried to listen with what patience 
 he could, but soon stopped him, saying he 
 was going to put the colt into the dog- 
 cart. 
 
 ^'May I go with you?" entreated Cecil.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 183 
 
 " Not to-day. My mother did not like 
 your going the last time, but I think very 
 soon you may come without causing her 
 any uneasiness. But I was going to ask 
 you whether, as you have now had a fort- 
 night's entire holiday, you could not come 
 to my study for just an hour in the day 
 to improve your Greek." 
 
 " I shall like to come very much, James, 
 if the afternoon will do, just after dusk." 
 
 ^^ It is the only time I can give you, for 
 I am busy this week. From four to five, 
 will that suit?" 
 
 Cecil agreed, and went out with his 
 brother to see the colt harnessed. Very 
 handsome he looked with his long mane 
 and tail, as he was led out and put into 
 the dog-cart. Both the grooms stood at 
 his head as James, taking the reins, jumped 
 lightly into the trap. Collins, the under-
 
 184 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 groom, jumped up by his side, and James 
 desired Williams to stand aside. The colt 
 stood still, then gave a short leap forward, 
 and then ran back. Williams was going to 
 his head. 
 
 " Don't touch him, Williams," said the 
 curate. 
 
 The colt backed again, running the 
 wheels against the stable -door, and then 
 stood nearly upright. He was about to 
 commence plunging, when Williams came up 
 to him, and, tossing his head with a sort 
 of frightened snort, he recognised the groom, 
 and became quiet. 
 
 ^^I really think, sir, I had better lead 
 him through the gates," said the man. 
 
 "Perhaps you had," was the reply, 
 given in a rather dissatisfied tone of 
 voice. 
 
 The colt had been in the gig three or
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 185 
 
 four times before, but was not yet used to 
 it. He went very well while he was led, 
 but had a way of looking round, as if 
 everything he saw was very new to him, 
 which was indeed the case. 
 
 When they had passed the gates, which 
 had been previously opened, the groom let 
 him go, and, with a plunge or two, he 
 went off at a good pace. 
 
 The man stood for a minute or two 
 looking admiringly after his young mas- 
 ter. 
 
 " It's a'most a pity," he said to himself, 
 'Hhat he be a parson. He'd be the best 
 whip in the county in no time, and there 
 isn't a horse he can't ride." 
 
 They went along as unfrequented a road 
 as they knew^ of, the colt going much 
 better than when he was out before. 
 
 '^ He's improving greatly, Collins," said
 
 186 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 his master ; ^^ he'll make a very steady 
 horse." 
 
 Upon which, as if he had heard the 
 remark, he commenced backing into a 
 hedge. But Collins was at his head in a 
 minute, and he was led safely out again. 
 His next attempt was to run into a car- 
 riage full of ladies. It was the family 
 from Woody Knoll. Mr. Mills was riding 
 at their side. They were all talking and 
 laughing. Perhaps the colt wished to 
 know what it was all about, perhaps he 
 was not accustomed to hear so much 
 noise, but he was not allowed to make 
 inquiries, and they passed without any 
 accident. Indeed, there was no vice in 
 the colt, he was only young, and rather 
 ignorant as yet of the ways of the world. 
 In little more than an hour he was brought 
 safely home again, and was put into his
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 187 
 
 stable. The curate went up to his study, 
 and at four, punctually to the minute, in 
 came Cecil. 
 
 ^^I shall like reading the Testament with 
 you in Greek very much, James," said he. 
 '^ I think people who only read it in 
 English can know very little about it." 
 
 " If you mean to say, Cecil, that you 
 think your Greek, or, indeed, mine either, 
 is capable of making a better translation 
 than that bequeathed to us by our fore- 
 fathers, I beg to differ from you." 
 
 " But there are mistakes, James ; because 
 you yourself have sometimes told me a 
 word would bear a different meaning." 
 
 " There are a few places, undoubtedly, 
 in which the word might bear a somewhat 
 different meaning. This, as you are 
 doubtless aware, is often caused from the 
 fact that the Ensiish word now bears a
 
 188 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 somewhat different meaninsr from what it 
 
 o 
 
 (lid at the time the translation was made ; 
 but so excellent is our translation, and 
 so carefully has it been looked over by 
 both friends and foes, that every careful 
 English reader may be aware, if lie chooses, 
 of these slight inaccuracies, which, after all, 
 are very trifling. I prefer our English 
 Bible to schoolboys' Greek." 
 
 " Theri why do you wish me to read 
 it?" asked Cecil 
 
 ^' Because I think every man will have 
 to give an account of his talents to the 
 God who gave them to him, and I think 
 it the duty of every educated man to take 
 heed that he does not spend those talents 
 on every other subject than on God's 
 Word. Besides, of course there is great 
 pleasure in reading a work in the language 
 in which it was written ; but in all con-
 
 THE CnUTE OF SADBROOKE. 189 
 
 troverted passages I prefer looking out the 
 opinions of the most learned divines of 
 different ages, and then comparing them 
 with each other, to trusting exclusively 
 to my own knowledge of languages, though 
 I am endeavouring to make that as critical 
 as possible.'^ 
 
 *^What do you call a critical knowledge 
 of a language?" 
 
 ^' Comparing the original words with the 
 same words as they are used by the best 
 writers in the same language, and so en- 
 deavouring to gain the full meaning they 
 are intended to convey." 
 
 '^ That must require a deal of learning, 
 though ?" said Cecil. 
 
 " Then follow my advice, and trust to 
 your English Testament, as being a won- 
 derfully correct translation, and at the 
 same time improve yourself in Greek as
 
 190 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 much as you can. There is nothing I 
 hate more," continued the curate, '^ than 
 to see a person vain of a little smattering 
 of learning/' 
 
 And so the week passed by. James 
 went every day to the school ; it would 
 soon be in sufficient order to require only 
 his occasional visits. Cecil was decidedly 
 improving, and under his brother's tuition 
 bade fair to become a real scholar. 
 
 The colt was becoming quite steady 
 in harness, though his master thought it 
 would be still some time before it would 
 be safe to drive or ride him to Sad- 
 brooke, and hang the reins over the school- 
 gate. 
 
 Yet was there one going wrong ; Jem 
 Brown had got over the traces the first 
 day ; he had been kicking violently ever 
 since, and the last day of the week the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 191 
 
 master said lie had fairly bolted, and 
 did not intend to return any more to 
 school. 

 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 AN EVENING AT FAIRLEIGH. 
 
 ANE evening towards the end of the 
 Aveek in which James Knightly was 
 Avorking so hard at his school Mr. and 
 Mrs. Saxon dined at Fairleigh, and the 
 Wilmot girls came in the evening. Mrs. 
 Wilmot was an invalid, and rarely went 
 out, the party therefore only consisted of 
 those to whom the reader has been already 
 introduced, with the addition of Mr. 
 Mills. 
 
 Now, as the doctor in a country town
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 198 
 
 is a person of some importance, a little de- 
 scription must be given of this gentleman. 
 He was rather a short and somewhat stout 
 man, about thirty-five years of age, stand- 
 ing therefore in this respect about midway 
 between Mr. Saxon and James Knightly. 
 He was rather a handsome man, but it was 
 not a face of a high type ; people called 
 him pleasant and good-natured — and so he 
 was when there was nothing particular to 
 put him out ; and as it was almost im- 
 possible to get his opinion on any subject, 
 he escaped the difficulty of giving a wrong 
 one. He was by no means otherwise than 
 a clever man in a small way ; willing to 
 go w^herever he was wanted, either to 
 visit a patient or to take a hand at whist, 
 and if he was not altogether perfect, why, 
 very few of us, perhaps, are so; and is not the 
 weary mill-horse round of the country practi- 
 VOL I.
 
 194 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 tioner an excuse for many a shortcoming? 
 A very liigli class of mind finding itself 
 being drawn down, as it were, into the vortex 
 of everyday life, would have put out in- 
 stinctively antennge in another direction ; 
 but these are few, and the irresolute mouth 
 of Mr. Mills proved he did not belong 
 to the class. But he worked hard, did 
 as much good as he possibly could, and 
 as little harm. He had no particular fault, 
 certainly no great one — he was not great 
 in any way, he was simply mediocre. 
 
 The gentlemen were just dropping in 
 one after another from the dining-room, 
 and standing with their teacups in their 
 hands, chatting to one another. Mr. Mills 
 first came up to Maude with a few com- 
 mon-place remarks respecting the weather, 
 when, finding that Hugh was also hover- 
 ing near, and wishing to do a kind act by
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 195 
 
 Maude, he crossed the room, and applied 
 himself to the task of playing the agree- 
 able to Alice ; but Hamilton was discussing 
 with her the reality or non-reality of the 
 appearance of the white lady, and likening 
 the legend to various others, both Scotch 
 and German, with which he appeared well 
 acquainted ; and although the subject might 
 have been supposed to be one of gene- 
 ral interest, it was quite evident they 
 were only talking for the benefit of each 
 other. He therefore chatted a little to 
 Annie, but with scarcely better success, 
 for Cecil was explaining to that young lady 
 the proper mode of training tumblers ; so 
 Mr. Mills finally dropped into a seat by 
 Mr. Saxon, and tried to seem perfectly 
 satisfied to listen to his inquiries respect- 
 ing sick parishioners. Mrs. Knightly and 
 Mrs. Saxon sat together on the sofa, talking 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 over family matters, domestic cares, and 
 all those many anxieties wherewith it ap- 
 pears to be the great delight of ladies to 
 solace themselves. 
 
 '^ What a comfort, dear Mrs. Knightly," 
 said Mrs Saxon, *^ it must be to you to 
 have your sweet family around you — such 
 a happy Christmas for you!'' 
 
 ^* It is indeed ; though I can hardly 
 look at them altogether as they are now 
 without thinking of the great grief it will 
 be when dear Alice leaves us — it will not 
 be long, I think now ; and it Avould be 
 selfish to regret it, for AVilliam is quite 
 like a son to us, and is doing so very well. 
 I ought to think myself a very happy 
 mother," said Mrs. Knightly, with a sigh 
 partly of satisfaction, and partly given 
 at the thought of parting with her daugh- 
 ter.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 197 
 
 ^' You will have anotKer sweet daughter 
 before long, if I can judge from appear- 
 ances," said her friend, glancing across the 
 room, where Hugh's attentions to Maude 
 were rather of the demonstrative sort. 
 
 Mrs. Knightly followed with her eyes the 
 direction pointed out, and did not quite 
 seem pleased with what she saw, but she 
 did not refer to it. 
 
 " Your girls are not old enough," she 
 said, ^^ to make you anxious as to their 
 happiness in this respect ; but I cannot 
 help thinking a great deal about Alice — 
 the town-life will be such a change to 
 her." 
 
 *^ We must all look forward to losing our 
 daughters — we should not wish it other- 
 wise, dear Mrs. Knightly ; and your eldest 
 son must be such a comfort to you. Mr. 
 Saxon thinks so highly of him ; only he is
 
 198 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 a little — just, you know, a little wild in 
 his ideas. I suppose you know all about 
 his school at Sadbrooke? My husband 
 could not refuse him, as he was so earnest; 
 but he hardly approves himself of so much 
 education amongst the poor." 
 
 ^^ I know James is very anxious about 
 the school ; he lias been working very hard 
 at it all tlie week — he is looking so tired 
 this evening," and his mother threw a 
 glance at him as she spoke ; '^ but I hardly 
 know myself whether to think it right or 
 not. It was only this morning that I 
 found the ' Mysteries of Udolpho ' in the 
 kitchen drawer. I told James of it, but 
 I am afraid he did not listen ; besides, he 
 says, when we have taught them to read, 
 we must provide them with proper books. 
 It really throws a great responsibility on 
 mistresses !"
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 199 
 
 "We cannot expect young men to think 
 of those things," replied Mrs. Saxon ; " but 
 I can believe anything you tell me. I 
 have given my housemaid warning, because 
 I found her writing in an album, actually 
 an album with coloured paper ; though 
 she is not a bad servant, and perhaps 
 I may keep her, if she asks me, as I 
 think she will ; but, as you say, it is no 
 use whatever to mention these things, 
 except to one another ; for when I name'd 
 it to Mr. Saxon, he only said I had better 
 put up with it." 
 
 " I fear there are great trials awaiting 
 us with respect to our domestic arrange- 
 ments ; indeed," said Mrs. Knightly, ^' even 
 James expects to see dinner ready every 
 day ; and how can it be done, if the 
 girls are all reading and writing." 
 
 *^ My husband thinks things will quiet
 
 200 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 down — there is nothing like keeping quiet, 
 he says/' said the rector's Avife, who 
 thought very highly, as of course was her 
 duty, of his opinion ; *' he has no fear 
 whatever of the future — he feels sure that 
 even dear James will see things differently 
 when a few years have passed over his 
 head — he does think so highly of him. 
 But we cannot expect him to act as if 
 lie had the experience of Mr. Saxon ; he 
 will find the children more troublesome 
 than he expects, and will probably soon 
 give up the school." 
 
 " James never gives up anything he has 
 once taken to," said his mother, who 
 did not like him thought in the wrong in 
 any respect ; ^' and perhaps it may do good 
 after all. I hope it will, though I cannot 
 quite see it myself ; and, indeed, Mr. 
 Knightly thinks very much as he does
 
 THE CURATE OF SaDBROOKE. 201 
 
 in the matter. The present time is a crisis 
 we have to pass through, he says — it is 
 an age of progress, and although we can- 
 not stay the torrent, he considers it is our 
 duty as much as we can to guide it." 
 
 "How happy Mr. Mills has been looking 
 lately," said Mrs. Saxon, changing the 
 subject. 
 
 " I thought so myself — lie is a very 
 nice man. I wonder he has never mar- 
 ried." 
 
 "I suppose he could not quite aiford it; 
 but I hear it is all settled now between 
 him and Bertha Gain — it has been talked 
 of for a long time." 
 
 " Indeed ! — which is Bertha ?" asked Mrs. 
 Knightly, who did not know much of the 
 Gains. 
 
 " Why, the pretty, slight girl, with 
 brown hair and eyes, who christened the
 
 202 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 vessel in the autumn, when Mr. Gain 
 gave the luncheon x^arty at the port. 
 Were not you there ?" 
 
 ^^ No — I so seldom go out. But I re- 
 member now, Mr. Knightly and Alice 
 went.'' 
 
 '' Mr. Gain will give all his daughters 
 nice fortunes.^ It is a very good match 
 for Mr. Mills. I am so glad he has such 
 a happy prospect in view; he is so very 
 kind, and has got the children so nicely 
 through the whooping-cough." 
 
 So, leaving the ladies to that interest- 
 ing subject, we will listen a little, by way 
 of change, to the conversation of the gen- 
 tlemen. 
 
 Mr. Knightly turned over the pages of 
 the Times, which had come in while they 
 were at dinner, and going up witli it in 
 his hand to where Mr. Saxon and Mr.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 203 
 
 Mills were sitting, showed them a para- 
 graph. 
 
 " These riots in different parts of the 
 country are very sad, Mr. Saxon," he said ; 
 ^^ and this wild cry for reform is altogether very 
 foolish. These people would be quiet enough, 
 I firmly believe, if they were let alone — 
 they are misled by a set of evil-minded 
 men who wish to bring anarchy into the 
 land. They must fail in their purpose ulti- 
 mately. Still, I must own I do not like 
 the present state of affairs — I think we 
 ought to be prepared." 
 
 "I hardly expect our people will trouble 
 themselves in the matter," said Mr. Saxon; 
 '^ they know the higher classes are their 
 friends ; and myself I have no fear but 
 what things will go on quietly enough at 
 Sadborough." 
 
 "I wish it may be so. What do you
 
 204 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 think, Mr. Mills?" asked Mr. Knightly. 
 
 '^ Well, I think, you know — that is, as 
 far as I can judge," said the doctor, " there 
 is a little disaffection in the neighbourhood ; 
 but then I have not studied the sub- 
 ject, and it is A^ery likely I may be 
 wrong." 
 
 " Sorry to hear you say so," said the 
 rector ; *^ so much as you go about among 
 the people, you must have good opportuni- 
 ties of judging. Still, I am not anxious 
 myself — there may be a little talk and 
 bluster, and that I imagine will be 
 all." 
 
 " I think, as you say, our people about 
 here do not mean any harm," replied Mr. 
 Mills ; ^^ still, I agree with you, Mr. 
 Knightly, there are those who mislead them, 
 and, as far as my observation goes, I almost 
 fear there is mischief going on."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 205 
 
 Mr. Mills had rarely made such a decided 
 speech as this in his life before ; but he 
 well knew the place was not yery quiet, 
 and although he did not consider it his 
 business in any way to interfere, it 
 reheved his conscience to have given this 
 Avarning." 
 
 ^'We must be prepared to meet it, then," 
 said the magistrate. 
 
 '^ I have very little doubt, though, not- 
 withstanding, that the storm, even if it 
 threatens, will pass by without doing us 
 any harm," said the quiet rector. '^ What 
 does your son think of the matter, Mr. 
 Knightly ?" 
 
 ^' James," said his father, "Mr. Saxon 
 wishes to speak to you." 
 
 James roused himself from the reverie in 
 which he appeared absorbed, and, joining 
 the party, entered with his usual spirit into
 
 206 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the subject under discussion. After a little 
 more talking, Mr. Knightly suggested a 
 rubber, and while the table was being set 
 out asked his son if he did not intend to 
 join them ; he had a sort of feeling that 
 it was not altogether the thing for James 
 to object doing whatever the rector might 
 think right to do. 
 
 "It is no pleasure to play with me, I 
 play so badly," was the reply. " I have 
 no doubt Hamilton will join." 
 
 " It would be a little relaxation for you, 
 I think," said Mr. Saxon. " From what 
 you said at dinner it seems to me you 
 must have been working very hard for 
 some days at Sadbrooke." 
 
 '' I assure you cards are no relaxation 
 to me," replied the curate. ''When I 
 was a child I remember I used to play 
 commerce for sugar plums. I disliked the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 207 
 
 cards, but I liked the sugar plums — I 
 must have been a thorough little gambler, 
 I only cared for the stakes." 
 
 ^' You certainly play very badly, James," 
 said his father; '^but you could play better, 
 I feel sure, if you chose to take any 
 trouble in the matter." 
 
 "I really think myself it is exercising 
 unnecessary self-denial to refuse oneself the 
 pleasure of a quiet rubber/' said the 
 rector. " I really think, James, it would 
 do you good." 
 
 "I am sure, my dear sir, if you are 
 alluding to me, I fear I never exercise 
 anything like self-denial with respect to 
 what I really like," said the curate. 
 
 He thought of the colt and the partridges. 
 Mr. Saxon remembered the organ and the 
 game certificate, and arrived at a different 
 conclusion.
 
 208 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 '' Hamilton, you play, of course ?" said 
 Mr. Knightly. 
 
 Hamilton had been watching the setting 
 out of the table, and had resigned him- 
 self to what he saw was his inevitable 
 fate ; it was rather hard that evening, at 
 any other time he would have liked a 
 game well enough. 
 
 ^^ Then James is not wanted at all," 
 said his father ; '^ we are four without 
 him." 
 
 So they cut for partners — Mr. Saxon 
 and Hamilton against Mr. Knightly and 
 the doctor. 
 
 Mr. Knightly and the rector played 
 good steady games ; Hamilton played a 
 first-rate game — he did everything he 
 undertook in thoroughly good style ; and 
 the doctor held his cards as best he 
 could, and did his best. He studied Hoyle,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 209 
 
 the authority in those days. He did not 
 revoke, he did not trump his partner's 
 trick, he knew there was some mysterious 
 value connected with the thirteenth card ; 
 he tried to attend to all the regular rules, 
 and as all perseverance is rewarded in the 
 end, was decidedly improving. 
 
 James had spoken truly when he said he 
 did not like cards ; but, besides that, he 
 did not wisli to play. Now, although Mr. 
 Saxon felt quite sure that in a few years 
 he would sober down, and enjoy a quiet 
 rubber as much as he did himself, yet it is 
 an undoubted fact that his curate's con- 
 tinual refusal to play was '' the little rift 
 within the lute," which, until he got 
 well-interested in his game, made the music 
 of the cutting and shuffling of the cards 
 less agreeable to him than it woukl other- 
 wise have been. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 As music would have been too noisy, 
 the others sat down to a round game. 
 Maude would far rather not have played, 
 but as, with the exception of Mrs. Saxon 
 and Mrs. Knightly, who were still deeply 
 engaged in conversation, James was the 
 only one who did not, she could not very 
 well sit out ; so Hugh placed her chair 
 next his, and helped to make her hand for 
 her, and talked for both. Alice, too, looked 
 more often to the whist-table than was for 
 the benefit of her own game, besides dis- 
 turbing Hamilton, who was once called to 
 order by Mr. Knightly, but afterwards gave 
 his undivided attention to the game, and 
 was rewarded by the remark from the 
 rector, 
 
 ''Your play won us the trick, Hamil- 
 ton." 
 
 Altogether the evening was hardly a
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 211 
 
 success, tlioiigli few found there was any- 
 thing going wrong. 
 
 After the gentlemen left, Mr. Knightly 
 said, 
 
 '^ What an excellent steady game Mr. 
 Saxon plays, Hamilton ; and don't you 
 think Mr. Mills improves greatly? He is 
 such a good man, too ; and he plays very 
 well, does the doctor !" 
 
 *^ Where's James?" said Hamilton, not 
 liking to contradict. 
 
 '^ Oh, John called him out a long time 
 ago," said Cecil. 
 
 Maude knew he had been absent nearly 
 two hours, but no one else had missed him. 
 
 Mr. Knightly rang the bell and in- 
 quired. 
 
 " There is a fire at Sadbrooke, sir," 
 said the man. " Mr. James is gone over ; 
 you can see it from the garden." 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 They all went out to look. There was 
 a light on the distant sky, the flames were 
 shooting up into the heavens. They had 
 been speaking of evil, but never thought it 
 was so near. 
 
 •:iir;j«;&v' 
 
 •SirKS-
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE FIRE AT SADBROOKE. 
 
 TITHEN James refused to join the whist 
 party, he was seized on by the young 
 people at the other table to take a hand 
 at vingt-et-un ; but this he also declined, and 
 sat at a little distance, holding a book in 
 his hand, and glancing over its pages. 
 After a little while, however, his eyes wan- 
 dered ; his thoughts were not sufficiently dis- 
 engaged to take in the meaning, his fingers 
 relaxed their grasp, and the book fell on 
 his knee. 
 
 It was not otherwise than a pretty sight,
 
 214 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 that circle of young faces, in the first 
 spring-time of their youth, with life open- 
 ing before them, an unwritten book, which 
 none of them could look into, and yet 
 one which they were all anxious to read ; 
 so alike in all looking forward to some 
 ideal, so unlike in character, hopes, and 
 aspirations. 
 
 The light from the wax candles in the 
 chandelier threw a soft bright gleam upon 
 the table. Alice, with the masses of her 
 black hair strained off her face, twined in 
 braids round her classically-shaped head, and 
 fastened at the side with one white rose, 
 looked almost queenly ; but though her con- 
 stant glances to the side-table showed the 
 exquisite turn of her head and neck to 
 full perfection, it gave her the appear- 
 ance of being somewhat distrait 
 
 Opposite to her, and in full view of
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 215 
 
 the curate, sat Maude. She was in the 
 habit of tying up her golden tresses with 
 a band of ribbon or velvet ; it was a 
 question often discussed among them all, 
 whether she looked best in black velvet 
 or blue. James preferred the blue — it 
 matched, he said, the colour of her eyes, 
 which certainly were as bright and' clear 
 as the blue sky, and which he was wont 
 to say were heavenly. 
 
 Hugh's opinion was in favour of the black — 
 it gave, he said, more character to her face ; 
 that evening she wore the blue. James 
 found himself, after his book had fallen, some 
 minutes, without intending it, gazing at her 
 intently. He was certainly fascinated by 
 the sight, though he was by no means sure 
 it was a pleasant one to him; for, as Hugh 
 was very anxious to instruct her, the golden 
 tresses were ever and anon sweeping so close
 
 216 THE CUKATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 to him, that James began to feel looking on 
 almost unbearable, though, sooth to say, 
 there was rather a weary shade on that 
 young face, too, and almost a pout some- 
 times on the very pretty mouth. Once 
 or twice he took up his book again ; but 
 it would not do ; involuntarily it again 
 fell, and he was looking at the scene before 
 liim. He started from a sort of reverie 
 when the man-servant came up to him, 
 and said a boy from Sadbrooke wished to 
 speak to him. He rose, and went out of 
 the room. For one moment he thought 
 Maude looked up at him with almost a 
 reproachful glance ; but it must have been 
 his fancy — what had he done to vex her? 
 He had kept out of her way — not interfered 
 at all between her and Hugh, and what 
 could she want more? He went out to 
 speak to the boy.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBEOOKE. 217 
 
 " What do you want ?" be inquired. 
 
 ** Please, sir, there be a fire to Farmer 
 Stuart's," said be ; ^^ I've corned in for the 
 ingion, and they said I'd best tell you, 
 'cause it bean't far from the church, and 
 the stacks be all a-blaze!" 
 
 He took his hat off the peg, and was 
 going off straight for Sadbrooke, when he 
 thought, although it was rather out of his 
 way, he had better go and look after the 
 engine. Engines in country towns are not 
 now always in order when they are wanted; 
 thirty years ago they were still less likely 
 to be got ready in time, and they were 
 rather slow people at Sadborough. 
 
 When he reached the place where the 
 town engine was kept, he found a crowd 
 collected, but the door was fast shut, and 
 though they were battering away at it, no 
 one heard The sound of the knocking
 
 218 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 reverberated and echoed through empty- 
 passages, and then died away, till it was 
 again awakened, but there was no answer. 
 The place was evidently empty. So leaving, 
 he went on to look after an engine that 
 he knew was kept by an insurance com- 
 pany, and which he hoped to find in better 
 order. This engine had been drawn out, but 
 there were no horses. Some were procured 
 from the stable of a neighbouring brewery, 
 but the man who usually drove them was not 
 there. He was at home, they said. He 
 was sent for ; no, he was at the " Goose 
 and Gridiron;" they went there; he was 
 not of much use now he Avas found. The 
 messenger came back with this information. 
 The horses were already in ; another man 
 whose duty it was to attend the engine was 
 going to drive; but the horses were rather 
 restive; they were unaccustomed to be out
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 219 
 
 at night, and the crowd and the lights 
 frightened them. The man hesitated. The 
 curate was getting very impatient. 
 
 " 1 will drive for you/' he said. 
 
 He took the reins, mounted in front, 
 with the man beside him, and at a slapping 
 pace the rumbling old engine rattled through 
 the streets of Sadborough. 
 
 When they were clear of the town, the 
 flames were plainly visible. The curate 
 whipped on the horses ; the farm was very 
 near the church, happily it stood on higher 
 ground, but the wind was high, and rather 
 inclined to change. If it did so, the church 
 must be in peril, and at that thought he 
 drove on still quicker than before. He 
 passed the usual turn. The man ventured 
 to remind him of it. 
 
 "I am going the other way. We can 
 partly fill the engine, and then take it up
 
 220 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 over the bridge ; it will save time, and we 
 can place it much better." 
 
 *^But the road is such a bad one, sir/' 
 the man remonstrated. 
 
 The horses wTre going nearly at a 
 gallop, the engine rattling so they could 
 hardly hear each other speak. 
 
 ^^My friend/' was the reply, "you ob- 
 jected to drive yourself, and I offered to 
 do your work for you, and this is the road 
 I intend to take." 
 
 The man did not dare to say anything 
 more, but he had to hold on to keep his 
 seat. They had turned into the lane, and 
 were come to the steep of the hill. Here 
 he pulled up, and went down very slowly 
 and steadily, and then he stopped the 
 horses to fill the engine at the low bank 
 of the river by Widow Brown's cottage. 
 Jem was standing by.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 221 
 
 "Go on, Jem/' said he, "and tell the 
 people to stand aside. I shall bring the 
 engine quick up over the steep pitch." 
 
 The boy did not move. 
 
 " Do you hear what I say ?" 
 
 He loitered slowly on over the bridge, 
 standing upon it directly in the way. 
 
 "Mind what you're about; don't stand 
 there/' he heard called after him. 
 
 Some of the men at the farm had heard 
 the engine, and came down. 
 
 " Keep by the horses' heads," said 
 James Knightly ; "I doubt their standing 
 the lire and the noise ; keep by the side, 
 when I'm over the bridge, and unfasten 
 directly I stop at the farm, or sooner if 
 they begin to plunge ; don't let us have 
 the engine over the bank." 
 
 " Had you not better get down, sir," 
 said a man, recognizing him (it was his
 
 222 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 schoolmaster), '' and let us lead up the 
 horses ?" 
 
 "No, you could not take them round; 
 only be ready, and as quick as possible." 
 
 A strange unearthly light had fallen on 
 the old grey church, looking really fearful 
 as it shone on the ivy-mantled tower. 
 The flames were shooting up from the farm, 
 and the crackling of the fire was plainly 
 to be heard ; but James knew that until 
 they turned it would not burst in all its 
 fearfulness upon their sight, and he felt 
 sure the horses would not bear it a 
 moment. But it was no time for delay ; 
 he flogged them on ; he knew almost to an 
 inch the sweep to allow for the turn, he 
 had driven there so often for practice. 
 Jem Brown had to make a dash to get 
 over the narrow bridge — they were upon 
 him before he was aware; the men ran by
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 223 
 
 the horses' heads, the curate flogged them 
 on, they rushed violently up the steep, 
 swept round the other curve, and in 
 scarcely more than a minute the engine 
 was safely placed on the terrace road, di- 
 rectly in front of the raging flames. 
 
 The men had the horses unfastened 
 almost before they stopped. It was not 
 an instant too soon, they were beginning 
 to plunge, and had the engine backed, it 
 would have run against the white palings, 
 and, heavy as it was, inevitably have 
 broken through, and toppled over the steep 
 bank down into the river. 
 
 It was an awful sight, coming so sud- 
 denly upon the full blaze. Four or Ave 
 large ricks were on fire, the flames rising 
 up amid the spiral wreaths of smoke 
 into the sky. One or two were burning 
 out, the fire having done its worst; the
 
 224 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 house had just caught — being thatched, 
 there was little hope now of saving it. 
 The scene of confusion was something 
 almost impossible to describe. The furni- 
 ture was being dragged wildly out of the 
 house, plates and dishes being thrown out 
 of the windows ; a neighbour was leading off 
 the sleepy, frightened little ones, the terri- 
 fied horses were plunging as they were 
 led out of the yard, pigs were screaming 
 with terror, cocks and hens fluttering 
 about, everybody was in the way of every- 
 body else ; some of the cows were stand- 
 ing still, and others butting with their 
 horns; and pieces of thatch, carried by the 
 winds, were scarcely to be distinguished 
 from the flocks of pigeons, which, burned 
 out of their dovecot, were flying in the 
 air, many of them with their wings on 
 fire, carrying destruction as they went, till.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBKOOKE. 225 
 
 overpowered, they fell down like moths into 
 the flames. 
 
 The only creature who seemed to have 
 retained anything like his self-possession 
 was Watch, the large farmyard-dog, who 
 had undertaken of his own accord the 
 charge of three sheep, and with great 
 difficulty, and unwearied patience, had 
 driven them through the crowded barton 
 amid the cows, the pigs, and the terrified 
 people, and, just as the engine came up, 
 had succeeded in getting them out at the 
 other gate of the farm, that opened into 
 the lane opposite the church, where, leaving 
 them to feed, if they liked, in the hedge, 
 he returned to assist. 
 
 There appeared to be all the people of 
 the place collected, but they were doing 
 little good. Some were standing with their 
 hands in their pockets, not attempting to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 be of any use, seeming, when they were 
 asked to do anything, really unwilling to 
 assist ; others were desirous to help, but 
 did not know the way — and, indeed, until 
 the engine arrived, there was little they 
 could do, such power had the Hames over 
 the combustible materials with which they 
 were working their will. 
 
 The hose of the engine was turned on 
 immediately, and a large jet of water 
 kept playing on the house ; and seeing that 
 there was now some chance of part being 
 saved, those who had been previously 
 willing to work, but disheartened by the 
 extent of the fire, now assisted much more 
 earnestly, and many of the others were 
 ashamed to be seen by the parson doing 
 nothing. 
 
 But a new danger was now seen. The 
 wind had been high all day, but variable.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 227 
 
 blowing in gusts, and occasionally chang- 
 ing, but for the last half hour it had set 
 steadily in a direction that blew the 
 flames away from the church, and along 
 the road, past the white palings. 
 
 ^^ The chapel will be burnt for certain, 
 if it ain't looked to," said one of the 
 men. 
 
 It was indeed in the greatest danger ; 
 the flames were blowing over it, and the 
 lead of the roof was rapidly beginning to 
 melt. The hose of the engine was altered 
 so as to play on it, and after about an 
 hour's hard work the fire was evidently 
 ulider control. But, alas ! that was in 
 "Teat measure because there was little more 
 left to burn ! The roof of the farmhouse 
 had fallen in, leaving only the blackened 
 walls standing. All the ricks were gone, 
 with the exception of one that stood at 
 
 q2
 
 228 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the other end of the yard ; the stables 
 were burnt, the barns were almost de- 
 stroyed ; it was a scene of wreck and 
 ruin. The chapel was safe — a great comfort; 
 for had that caught the greater part of 
 the village would in all probability have 
 been destroyed. 
 
 The engine continued playing ; the agent 
 for the insurance company to which it be- 
 longed had come over from Sadborough. 
 He had been spending the evening at a 
 friend's house, but came immediately he 
 was aware of the disaster. 
 
 He thanked Mr. Knightly for his promp- 
 titude ; the men were so incapable when 
 left to themselves. 
 
 "I am afraid I have not done much 
 good," was the reply ; ^' the destruction is 
 nearly total — it is a sad loss for Farmer 
 Stuart."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 229 
 
 " You have saved the village, Mr. 
 Knightly. Had the chapel caught, the 
 thatched cottages beyond must have inevit- 
 ably been sacrificed, and I do not think it 
 could possibly have resisted the flames five 
 minutes longer ; as it is, T fear the beau- 
 tiful little building is sadly blackened and 
 disfigured — it is a grievous pity !" 
 
 Hamilton and Hugh, together with Cecil, 
 came up just after this ; they had 
 walked over as soon as they heard of the 
 fire. 
 
 " What a fearful scene !" exclaimed 
 Hamilton. 
 
 "How did it happen?" inquired Hugh. 
 
 His brother shook his head. 
 
 *' It will be most strictly inquired into 
 to-morrow," said the agent. 
 
 " 'Twere done of purpose, for sartain," 
 said a farmer who stood near ; " two ricks
 
 230 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 was on fire to once, and they've found a 
 bit o' a tinder-box. '^ 
 
 The Knightlys soon left ; there were 
 now plenty of people there whose business 
 and interest it was to see that the flames 
 did not again burst out. Of course the 
 village would be carefully watched all night, 
 for fear any stray sparks might have fallen 
 anywhere unheeded ; but the fire was burn- 
 ing itself out. It was a sad walk from 
 that scene of destruction. What a contrast 
 to the quiet drawing-room at Fairleigh ! 
 
 As they went on they met the town 
 engine going, making a great rattling 
 noise, but very little progress. The driver 
 pulled up, and inquired if they were 
 wanted. 
 
 '^ You had better go and see," said Hugh. 
 ''It is no thanks to you the village is not 
 all down ; and you had better make haste.
 
 THE CURATE OF SaDBROOKE. 231 
 
 Can't you drive a bit quicker than that?" 
 The man grumbled ; 'twasn't his fault, 
 and swore at the horses, flogging them, 
 but soon allowed them to relapse into their 
 old pace. 
 
 " What a slow set you are down here 
 at Sadborough !" said Hugh. '' If you're 
 going to rust here all your life, Jem, I 
 don't envy you, that's all — why, you'll 
 soon be like that old engine. I should 
 be good for nothing in no time." 
 
 '^If from any small advantages any of 
 us may possess we are equal to the 
 task," said Hamilton, ^' we ought to en- 
 deavour to rub off some of this rust, as 
 you call it. I am not sure but that 
 your brother is rather to be envied than 
 pitied — his Avork is so plain before him, 
 he has quite enough to do here to pre- 
 vent his rusting; though in some things
 
 232 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 these Sadborough people seem to me to 
 be going too fast — in the matter of this 
 fire, for instance." 
 
 ^' It all comes from the same cause — 
 that of ignorance," said James; ^^to do 
 even a little to scatter it, would indeed 
 be a task worthy of one much better 
 than I am. It is little, very little I can 
 do, but still I can do something ; and I can 
 persevere in what 1 have begun, which 
 I hope will prevent my rusting, Hugh. 
 I am very glad I opened that school." 
 
 HoAV often do our actions difier from 
 our intentions ! The curate drove the 
 engine that evening to Sadbrooke in the 
 belief it was required to save the church ; 
 but in consequence of the wind settling 
 in the contrary direction, that had never 
 been in danger; and he laid his head on 
 his pillow with the comfortable reflection
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 233 
 
 that he had preserved from sharing the 
 fate of its illustrious predecessor, the beau- 
 tiful epitome of the Temple of Diana. 
 
 ^'i 
 
 #-*^# 
 
 ^i-&. 
 ^/.f^
 
 ry^- '}■-:■• 
 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CONVERSATION. 
 
 rj^HE morning after the fire, when Mr. 
 Saxon's man-servant set the urn upon 
 the breakfast-table, that functionary, who 
 considered it part of his duty to keep his 
 master an courant of what was going 
 on in the parish, informed him there had 
 been a dreadful fire the evening before at 
 Sadbrooke. 
 
 ^^ Indeed ! — where was it, Jones?" 
 '^ At Farmer Stuart's, sir ; the house is 
 almost down, and a great many ricka are
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 235 
 
 burnt. He has had a dreadful loss, poor 
 man !" 
 
 "Was he insured, have you heard?" 
 
 " The house was, sir, but that weren't 
 his ; and so were the furniture, but that's 
 most saved ; but the stacks weren't, and 
 they're all burnt." 
 
 "How dreadfully stupid!" said Mrs. 
 Saxon ; " how could they be so careless 
 not to insure, and then to take no care 
 about fire?" 
 
 " It was set on fire, ma'am, they say — 
 done by some one on purpose." 
 
 "I am deeply grieved to hear it," said 
 the rector ; " I hope it was an accident ?" 
 
 " They say not, sir," replied the man ; 
 "and 'twould have been much worse hadn't 
 it been for Mr. Knightly, who drove the 
 engine over himself; there was no one 
 there fit to do anything, and it only
 
 236 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 came just in time to save that beautiful 
 chapel that's there, you know, sir.'* 
 
 This was a piece of information. As to 
 driving the engine, that was nothing ; he 
 would, as he one day told one of them, 
 never have been surprised to see any of 
 the Knightlys driving a young elephant, 
 or perhaps a pair of wild tigers, had 
 such things come in their way ; but for 
 a clergyman to save a dissenting chapel, 
 was a matter he thought that to an igno- 
 rant person required an apology, or at least 
 explanation. 
 
 *^ I am very much distressed at what 
 you tell me, Jones," said his master ; 
 '^ but Mr. Knightly has set us all a most 
 excellent example — we should always look 
 upon our neighbour's property, when it is 
 in danger, exactly as if it belonged to 
 ourselves."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 237 
 
 Placed in this juxtaposition by Mr. Saxon, 
 ourselves and our neighbours always meant 
 church people and dissenters. 
 
 '^ Certainly, sir/' said the man, respect- 
 fully, as he withdrew. 
 
 Now, he had entered that room with 
 the full belief Mr. Knightly was a hero ; 
 and that to have stayed those destructive 
 flames in any way must have been doing 
 a real duty ; but if this explanation was 
 required, there must be some doubt as 
 to the matter. When, therefore, he was 
 again able to collect the audience who, 
 in the kitchen of the rectory, listened to 
 his words with reverence, believing him to 
 be the exponent of his master's views, he 
 informed them — 
 
 ^^ He was himself particular partial al- 
 ways to young Mr. Knightly (though he 
 didn't think he quite preached equal to
 
 238 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Mr. Saxon), but lie did hope he wouldn't 
 be led away by these schemes of reforma- 
 tion that was upsetting of the country so ; 
 and he was not quite sure himself, for all 
 people praised him so for what he had 
 done, whether it was quite right for the 
 dignity of the Church to have put itself 
 out of the way to encourage of dissent." 
 
 Mrs. Saxon had somewhat the same ideas, 
 for, as she handed her husband his morn- 
 ing cup of tea, she said — 
 
 " Eeally, my dear, James Knightly is 
 getting so wild ; I am quite afraid he 
 will do something very foolish. That school 
 of his was such a ridiculous scheme ; and 
 to think of his leaving home last even- 
 ing, when there was such a pleasant party, 
 and going over to Sadbrooke. I am 
 afraid he will get quite monastic in his 
 views. !"
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 239 
 
 " Never mind James, Fanny," said the 
 rector, sipping his tea ; " I don't see but 
 what he was quite as usefully employed 
 last evening as any of us, and I have 
 no objection whatever to his school — I think 
 it was wanted ; not that I believe in this 
 fire having been done on purpose. I have 
 no doubt, when it comes to be inquired 
 into, it will prove to have been quite 
 accidental !" 
 
 When, after breakfast, Mrs. Saxon had 
 her usual interview with her cook, she 
 gave great directions respecting care with 
 the fires and candles. 
 
 '^ And mind, cook," she said, " you don't 
 allow any low people to hang about the 
 house as it gets dark ; and tell Jones the 
 same ; they are all so rude and ignorant^ 
 they do mischief, I really believe, without 
 meaning it."
 
 240 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 The fire was of course the subject at 
 Fairleigh that morning. 
 
 *^ I am greatly concerned to hear what 
 you tell me," said Mr. Knightly ; "I shall 
 ride over to Sadbrooke immediately after 
 breakfast ; the matter must be most strictly 
 investigated, and if Farmer Stuart has really 
 been a great loser, I shall endeavour to 
 open a subscription for him at once ; not 
 only for the sake of assisting a worthy man 
 in distress, but also because it is right that 
 the disaffected classes should be made aware 
 that those who by the possession of pro- 
 perty are liable to be injured in this 
 manner, intend to stand by one another at 
 this crisis.'' 
 
 "It was an uncommonly funny thing, 
 though, Jem," said Cecil, " that you should 
 have gone over to take care of the church, 
 and ended by saving the chapel."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 241 
 
 ^^ You must really now do something for 
 the fellows at the brick place/' said Hugh^ 
 *' or they will be jealous of such a polite atten- 
 tion having been shown to the rival house.'^ 
 
 '^ I highly approve of James's conduct," 
 said their father ; ^' such acts as his of last 
 evening tend to induce good feeling in a 
 place ; it is not because a man has taken 
 holy orders that he is thereby released 
 from the obligation that devolves on us all 
 of assisting in times of danger and diffi- 
 culty. It was a scandalous thing that 
 there should be no person ready to take 
 over the engine. I shall see to that matter 
 at once, that such a thing may never be 
 required again, though I earnestly trust we 
 may have no more fires." 
 
 " What did you think of the conduct 
 of the people last night, James ?" asked 
 Hamilton. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 '' I did not like it at all," was the 
 reply ; '^ but I saw some faces I did not 
 recognise, and many who belonged to the 
 lowest part of the town here. The Sad- 
 brooke people worked tolerably well, I 
 thought ; but many of them are very 
 ignorant, and likely to be led into mis- 
 chief on that account." 
 
 ^' I heard a man say — * Serve him right !' " 
 said Cecil; ^4ie didn't see me, I was on 
 the other side of the wall. There was a 
 knot of them together, and they were 
 almost ready to cheer when the roof 
 fell in, but the man who spoke stopped 
 them." 
 
 James was listening to what Cecil said. 
 He had been too much among the people 
 not to be aware that a very uncomfort- 
 able state of feeling existed ; but then he 
 considered the farmers hard ; he knew
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 243 
 
 wages were low and bread dear ; and 
 although he had no idea for a moment 
 of excusing any wrong-doing, he was more 
 ready than the others to see that the way 
 had been preparing for some time for such 
 deeds, and that, in fact, this fire was 
 only a small burst, shewing what was 
 pent up. He did hope the act had not 
 been perpetrated by anyone of the 
 place, still it could never have occurred 
 had they not been indulging in some 
 measure in the evil feeling that was around 
 them. The demons of ignorance and ob- 
 stinacy had, he knew only too well, rest- 
 ing places in the homes of the people at 
 Sadbrooke. It was his duty, his work, to 
 scare them from their abodes. How was 
 it to be done ? How is all evil to be 
 expelled? How is all darkness to be chased 
 away? Surely by the entering in of light. 
 
 r2
 
 244 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 And was it not for him to diffuse that 
 light, to let it shine in all his teaching, 
 in all his sermons, in every act and every 
 word ? 
 
 His thoughts for the next few minutes 
 were gone far beyond the fire of the even- 
 ing before. Even that was but a small 
 thing in comparison. He was thinking 
 whence all this sprung, of the continued, 
 the never-ceasing conflict between truth 
 and error, between good and evil, between 
 light and darkness, between the Holy 
 One whose dwelling is the Eternal Heaven, 
 and the Prince of the Powers of Hell 
 beneath. His conversation with Hamilton 
 as they walked together to the village 
 was tinctured with these thoughts. 
 
 "It is a very solemn thought for a 
 man to believe that he is any way placed 
 as the instructor of others, Hamilton,'^ he
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 245 
 
 said ; " but when we look on Lim as set 
 to teach those things that pertain to the 
 Eternal World, it becomes more solemn still. 
 I cannot wish I had never entered the 
 Church, but I do feel very intensely how 
 unfit I am for the work." 
 
 " Every man who sets himself earnestly 
 to his work must feel that in some measure, 
 I believe," was the reply ; '^ and of course 
 the higher the aim the more likely are 
 we to fall short of it." 
 
 " There is so much darkness around, so 
 much sin, so much evil, so few to com- 
 bat it. What I do is such a mere no- 
 thing ; and there is one thing that puzzles 
 me not a little. I do not, of course, like 
 the people going so much to chapel ; and 
 yet if it is God's truth that they are 
 taught there, am I right in advising them 
 to stay away ? I mean, of course, that
 
 246 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 brick chapel to which the poor people go 
 just in turn with going to church. I do 
 not mean the other, that I look on as 
 different." 
 
 *' I believe the preaching at those places 
 often suits the poor very well indeed ; it 
 might not suit you or me, but I have no 
 doubt when you preach you are often shoot- 
 ing over the heads of your congregation. 
 The remarks, the similes, the applications 
 made by those in their own class of life, 
 who see things from the same stand-point, 
 must often be more appropriate." 
 
 "I have often thought that, and try to 
 be as plain as I can, and endeavour to 
 put myself in the position of the poor, 
 and to think with their thoughts, but 
 still I know it must be a different 
 thing." 
 
 ^^ I can see no reason why those whose
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 247 
 
 views are alike in the main points should 
 not agree to differ in the minor ones." 
 
 " Is that not a dangerous doctrine, 
 Hamilton ?'' 
 
 " Not if you confine it to minor dif- 
 ferences, and do not allow it to affect 
 real truth. I suppose you allow it is 
 truth that is preached there, though the 
 language may be poor, and there may be 
 slight differences ?'' 
 
 " I believe so — that is, in the main 
 there is no important wrong teaching ; but 
 how strange it is there should be so many 
 different sects ! " 
 
 "By no means ; constituted as the mind 
 of man is, it would be marvellous indeed 
 were it not so. Truth may be likened 
 to the light ; in itself it is perfectly pure, 
 but it may be divided into colours, as 
 truth into different doctrines ; and in this
 
 248 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 division each individual mind has some 
 particular colour which he especially admires, 
 some pet theory, some favourite doctrine, 
 excellent in itself, but, from being put 
 too much forward, altering the whole ; and 
 from this cause arise sects, each, of course, 
 in some measure imperfect, or the light 
 would not be coloured ; but who shall 
 dare say their own is the one perfection, 
 their law that whose division of colours 
 will alone resolve into the pure light." 
 
 ** Then the more we gaze at the cove- 
 nant-bow the more shall we understand the 
 proportion which each doctrine bears in 
 the one scheme ; the more we gaze at the 
 clear light, the deeper will be our appre- 
 ciation of its purity.'' 
 
 He mused a little. 
 
 '' I believe you are right. I like your 
 simile, Hamilton.''
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 249 
 
 " Then apply it to the different sects. 
 One mind sees one doctrine more clearly 
 than another, and gives to it an undue 
 proportion ; others follow, their attention 
 having been called to that particular point 
 they think it of main importance, and in 
 this manner a sect arises. Another class 
 of mind takes another doctrine, and, unduly 
 elevating that, gets other followers ; and 
 we have an opposite party, each sees the 
 other is wrong, but their eyes are blinded 
 to the fact that they are also gazing only 
 on one point. But any light, even though 
 it be coloured by entering through a glass 
 darkly, is surely welcome to the captive in 
 the dungeon? Accept any help to scatter 
 the darkness, James ; one ray of light is 
 better than none at all." 
 
 '^ Undoubtedly, truth, as you say, is 
 one ; rightly to divide that word of trutli.
 
 250 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 is to separate each doctrine, giving each 
 its own right place. The neglect of this — 
 the tendency, as you say, of the human 
 mind to exalt one at tlie expense of ano- 
 ther — is the cause of sects, there is no 
 doubt of that ; these sects are necessarily 
 imperfect — their bow, with all its beauty, 
 will not resolve into the pure light. I see 
 this plainly, and I think, therefore, it be- 
 hoves all, instead of blaming others because 
 their light is not pure, to see that 
 their own is ; but unless, from long 
 living in the darkness, it hath, indeed, 
 blinded our eyes, we should welcome any 
 ray, the smallest, the most obscured ; it 
 will clear the more we watch for it ; but 
 the darkness must be pierced, it hangs 
 over us like a shroud." 
 
 *^ It is being pierced, no effort is alto- 
 gether unavailing. But to retui^n to our
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBHOOKE. 251 
 
 argument. We both belong to the Church 
 of England, and, of course, consider her 
 views the right ones ; let us see whether 
 we are justified in this belief. Her articles 
 have been framed by learned and careful 
 men, who have duly weighed the value of 
 each, and have, 1 believe, as far as possi- 
 ble, given to each its due preponderance ; 
 therefore, as it bears less the stamp of the 
 individual mind than those sects which, 
 named after any particular person, are 
 tinged with their peculiar ideas; so it has 
 less of colour, and approaches nearer to the 
 pure light." 
 
 *^ But these sects all refer to the Bible 
 as their standard of faith." 
 
 ^'That does not afiect the argument. 
 The Bible contains the truth, which is the 
 pure hght ; in the dividing of it comes the 
 difficulty; each sect or party, resting on
 
 252 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 one doctrine or passage more than another, 
 falls mto error. Each truth must be weighed 
 carefully as they are separated, and unless 
 they will again unite in the one whole, 
 there has been something wrong in the 
 division." 
 
 *^ And that division, undertaken in our 
 own wisdom, must inevitably be false ; it 
 needs the teaching of the Spirit, guiding 
 into all truth. Perhaps we none of us seek 
 that as we ought ; we rest on our own un- 
 aided opinions, our own biassed ideas, and 
 then, with these previously-formed views 
 strong within us, ask teaching." 
 
 " There have been holy men, James, in 
 perhaps every sect. They have not been 
 left to darkness, they have seen light — more 
 than that, they have helped to shed it 
 abroad ; but had they looked more steadily 
 at the one whole, or, as you say, had they.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 253 
 
 with less prejudiced hearts, sought higher 
 teaching, the light would have been purer 
 still ; but if you mourn over the dark- 
 ness, do not refuse any teaching that is 
 light, though it may not be altogether per- 
 fect." 
 
 ^' Then what do you say of the boasted 
 unity of the Church of Rome ?'^ 
 
 " Simply that it is a boast ! How can a 
 church that, having set up one universal 
 bishop, whom she calls God's vicegerent 
 on earth, yet looks back to a time when 
 two popes, upheld by different powers, 
 struggled for the mastery, ever talk of 
 unity? The higher the pretension, the 
 more noticeable the least flaw ; and this 
 alone is sufficient to do away with 
 the boast for ever. The succession 
 of the church failed then, if it ever 
 existed before. Besides, how can she talk
 
 254 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 of unity, having within her fold two such 
 orders as the Dominicans and Franciscans, 
 whose rancorous disputes and petty squab- 
 bles equal those of the most ranting Anti- 
 nomians and self-seeking Arminians ?'^ 
 
 '' Yet they do not separate." 
 
 " Which shows plainly, I take it, the 
 immense latitude she allows for different 
 opinions, as long as the disputants do not 
 actually break away. The Church of Rome 
 has presented to the world in all ages a 
 picture of outAvard conformity and inward 
 confusion. It has been her weakness that 
 has obliged her to resort, in the way she 
 has ever done, to persecution to induce con- 
 formity ; she knows well the rottenness of 
 her superstructure, with all its fair show, 
 and adopts means for establishing her 
 views, that go far to deprive her of the 
 name of Christian. Apply to her our simile:
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 255 
 
 instead of seeking the light, of drawing 
 nearer to it herself, she attempted to chain 
 it, that it might not be diffused ; but it 
 vanished at the touch of the earthly, and 
 she has little left her but the chain. All 
 who attempt to hide light from others will 
 find their efforts of no avail, though she 
 will leave themselves to the empire of dark- 
 ness. Let us remember that it is so — light 
 so evanescent, so pure, flies at the approach 
 of an earthly coil ; but for those who clear 
 her way, aiding to extricate her from clouds 
 and mists, she becomes clearer and clearer, 
 ever shining on in her own purity." 
 
 " Brighter and brighter unto the perfect 
 day," said the curate; and he gave himself 
 no further concern as to the brick chapel. 
 Any ray of light, so that it was light, better 
 than the darkness!
 
 *. 4 • 
 
 *. 1 • 
 
 '. t • 
 
 '. f • 
 
 '. ♦ • 
 
 '. ♦ • 
 
 *• ♦ • 
 
 ". ♦ • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 •^f 
 
 '^i 
 
 • ♦ 
 
 • i 
 
 • i 
 
 • i 
 
 • i 
 
 • ♦ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A NEW VISITOR AT FAIRLEIGH. 
 
 A FTEE returning from Sadbrooke, James 
 Knightly was sitting in his study, 
 when the servant came in, bringing him 
 a card. It was a small gentleman's card, 
 printed in the fashion of the day — just 
 such a one as he would have sent in 
 himself ; no difference whatever, with the 
 exception of the name — that engraved on 
 this was the Eev. W. Marks. Mr. Marks 
 was the minister of the handsome little 
 dissenting chapel at Sadbrooke. James
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE, 2o7 
 
 knew very little of liim, for he had come 
 there during the time he was at college, 
 and on his return he had not desired the 
 acquaintance ; so, although he just knew 
 who he was when he met him, that was 
 all, and he had never yet spoken to him. 
 
 ^^Show Mr. Marks in," he said. The 
 gentleman entered — a slight, pale, intellec- 
 tual-looking man, a few years older than 
 himself. James Knightly was going to 
 receive him with a bow ; he was rather 
 annoyed at the visit, and with himself for 
 having been the cause of its being paid ; 
 but the other stepped forward, and, hold- 
 ing out his hand, said, ^^ I trust, Mr. 
 Knightly, that you will pardon what you 
 perhaps consider the liberty I have taken 
 in calling upon you ; but although I am 
 quite aware that under other circumstances 
 it would not have rested with me to be 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 the first to seek an acquaintance, yet I 
 cannot allow a day to pass without calling 
 to thank you for the great, I may say 
 inestimable, service you have rendered me 
 in saving that beautiful little ehapel at 
 Sadbrooke from the destructive element, 
 which, but for your courage and prompti- 
 tude, would, last aiglit, have carried all 
 before it." 
 
 "Pray take a seat, Mr. Marks," was 
 the reply. " I really do not deserve any 
 thanks. When I heard there was a fire 
 at Sadbrooke, my thoughts at first natu- 
 rally reverted to the church, and also I 
 would, of course, have done anything in 
 my power to assist my people in such an 
 emergency. I only regret I could do so 
 very little; it has been a sad business!" 
 
 " I believe our chapel stood as a little 
 bulwark, if I may use the expression, be-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 259 
 
 tween the flames and the remainder of the 
 village ; so that, in some sense, although 
 I was not present myself, which I greatly 
 regret, may I not say we co-operated to 
 save the place from destruction, though I 
 sadly fear the people hardly deserved your 
 disinterested efforts, if it be indeed true 
 what I have heard respecting the origin 
 of the fire." 
 
 This was the easiest part of the speecli 
 to answer ; the curate did not desire to 
 co-operate with Mr. Marks. 
 
 ''1 much fear, indeed," he said. '^ that 
 it was the work of an incendiary-; indeed 
 there appears to be no doubt whatever 
 that such was the case ; but I still hope 
 it was not done by any of my people at 
 Sadbrooke." 
 
 '^ You are indefatigable in your efforts 
 for raising the tone of feeling, and en- 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 deavouring to elevate the moral .condition 
 of the village, Mr. Knightly, but I believe 
 men of your age cannot help seeing there 
 is a change at hand. The old bigotry is 
 dying out, from its ashes will arise a 
 higher creed, and sects, and minor differ- 
 ences, will, I believe, ere long, be as no- 
 thing in the minds of educated men, who, 
 acting in a wider field, but in the same 
 noble manner as you did last night, will 
 aid each other in their efforts after good, 
 without regarding whether it be church or 
 chapel that is doing the excellent work." 
 
 The curate did not wish for a discussion 
 on theological subjects ; he knew they should 
 differ; he doubted his power of convincing 
 Mr. Marks, and as he had called, he wished, 
 of course, the visit to be a friendly one. 
 
 *^ No person can desire more earnestly 
 than I do," he replied, "the improvement
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 261 
 
 of the people ; but I seek something more 
 than mere moral elevation or intellectual 
 improvement. I doubt the power of its 
 doing the work ; the light that clears the 
 mists of darkness must be from heaven 
 itself.'^ 
 
 '* Of course, the intellect is God's gift, 
 and will, rightly instructed, clear the dark- 
 ness. We are both endeavouring to raise 
 these dull intellects, why should we not 
 work together ? I am sure your school is 
 an excellent thing, and will be productive 
 of much good." 
 
 '^ I trust it may ; but if any good does 
 come, it will be from higher teaching than 
 mine. I can only sow the seed, and look 
 to the Spirit to give the increase ; I can 
 ask for the blessing, I cannot bestow it 
 myself." 
 
 Mr. Marks looked upon this as very
 
 262 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 unrealistic, he felt himself quite equal to 
 scatter any darkness that came in his way, 
 that is, if it were really worth while to 
 instruct such low people, though he would 
 not dispute that matter ; but he began to 
 feel that, had the brick chapel been the 
 one saved, there would have been more 
 sympathy of feeling between the curate 
 and the tinker, in some respects, than there 
 was between James and himself, gentlemen 
 and educated men as they both were. 
 
 "You are going the way to bring it 
 down ; laborare est orare,'^ he said. 
 
 " I can take my part in the great 
 struggle, that which is ever going on be- 
 tween light and darkness, between good 
 and evil.'' 
 
 " Between Ormuzd and Ahrimanes," said 
 Mr. Marks. 
 
 "Yes, if you will — it is the one work
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 263 
 
 of life ; but we had . need see well on 
 which side we are standing. I feel it 
 needs great care." 
 
 ^^ And of course you think I am 
 wrong, ]\Ir. Knightly. Well, I can only 
 repeat my thanks, and express a desire 
 we may yet be drawn nearer to one 
 another, and work together at Sadbrooke." 
 
 "Most earnestly do I desire the same 
 thing," said James ; " but it must be 
 when we can both point to the same 
 articles of faith as those in which we be- 
 lieve. I have no doubt you think me 
 very bigoted, when I say I cannot desire 
 the Church should lower her standard of 
 faith sufficiently to work with those who 
 differ on what she considers main points. 
 As to others, let them work, and wel- 
 come for me — there is room enough for 
 all ; but still I can sympathise with those
 
 264 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 who differ conscientiously. And now we 
 have met, we need not, I trust, in future, 
 look on each other as strangers/' 
 
 He hardly knew what he said. To 
 one with his strong views on doctrinal 
 points, the visit was certainly an awkward 
 one; but he had not sought it himself, 
 circumstances had brought it on him; and 
 although he fully intended to decline any 
 offer of working together, was he justified 
 in refusing Mr. Mark's overtures to a 
 merely slight personal acquaintance ? 
 
 They talked a little on other matters. 
 Mr. Marks, somewhat thrown out of society 
 by his position, had seldom spent so 
 pleasant a half hour, notwithstanding what 
 he decidedly called the bigotry of the 
 young clergyman. When he rose to take 
 leave, he said — 
 
 '^ You need not be much afraid of me,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 265 
 
 Mr. Knightly ; your preaching is empty- 
 ing the chapel — people like something 
 new." 
 
 ^' I trust they like something better 
 than new, even the old paths, and, I am 
 very hopeful, I trust the day may yet 
 come when we shall walk in them to- 
 gether." 
 
 They shook hands, and the curate ac- 
 companied his visitor through the hall. 
 The door Avas just being opened to admit 
 another gentleman, who, on entering, proved 
 to be Mr. Saxon. 
 
 Mr. Marks, brought into such close 
 proximity, made a slight bow. The rec- 
 tor stood back stiffly ; being a proud man, 
 he elevated his eyebrows ; being rather a 
 shy one, he reddened a little, but gave 
 no further token that he was aw^are of 
 the presence of any other person than his
 
 266 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 curate, to whom he spoke, and they went 
 together into the drawing-room. 
 
 ^' I congratulate you on your new ac- 
 quaintance, James,'^ he said, laughing; '^I 
 suppose the dissenting minister came to 
 thank you for the kind attention you 
 paid him in saving the chapel ?'^ 
 
 Mr. Saxon knew his name, but would 
 never have thought of calling him by it ; 
 to him he was simply the dissenting 
 minister — not an individual, by any means. 
 James was learning the lesson — one often 
 slowly learnt — of separating the person 
 from the class or sect to which he be- 
 longs, and of treating each as an indi- 
 vidual, one who in the sight of God has 
 a separate existence, and who surely ought 
 to be allowed the same by man. 
 
 "I am rather glad, on the whole, he 
 called, '^ was the reply ; '^ he is a very
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 267 
 
 pleasant, gentlemanly man, and I suppose, 
 as far as I am able, I ought to know 
 everyone in Sadbrooke ; it may be as well, 
 therefore, I should occasionally have a talk 
 with Mr. Marks/' 
 
 Mr. Saxon looked rather amused. 
 
 " These are new views, come .quite in 
 since my day," said he ; "I consider all 
 these fellows intruders, endeavouring to pull 
 down the Church which is by law estab- 
 lished, and which is the bulwark of the 
 State. Take care you do not go too far 
 in having anything to do with them. That 
 is my advice. Knightly.'' 
 
 " I do not think I am likely to be drawn 
 over ; neither do I consider my own powers 
 of argument would have much weight with 
 Mr. Mark's ; but as I believe the doctrines 
 of our Church are the true ones, ought I 
 to shrink from bringing them forward ?
 
 268 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Truth must prevail in the encounter 
 with error; and though I shoukl not have 
 sought the acquaintance, I do not like 
 now to shrink from it, as if I was afraid 
 of him." 
 
 ^^Well, I don't suppose he will convert 
 you any more than lie would myself ; only, 
 for the sake of others, to whom our con- 
 duct is an example, I think it behoves 
 us to be cautious how we give any coun- 
 tenance to intolerant bigotry on the one hand, 
 or latitudinarian indifference on the other." 
 The rector spoke very kindly, as he al- 
 ways did when addressing his curate ; yet 
 the idea flashed across the mind of the 
 latter in a way that almost provoked a 
 smile — could Mr. Saxon be referring to 
 his refusal to play whist the evening be- 
 fore, and going out instead and saving 
 the dissenting chapel ?
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 269 
 
 Mr. Knightly, senior, then entered the 
 room, and the fire was again discussed, its 
 origin so evidently the work of an incen- 
 diary. It was the first event of the sort 
 that had yet taken place in their neigh- 
 bourhood, and Mr. Knightly considered that 
 stringent measures ought to be taken to 
 discover the perpetrator, and prevent the 
 occurrence of future mischief. 
 
 He had been very busy all the morning, 
 calling on several gentlemen, and getting 
 their names to a subscription to ofier a 
 reward, and also another to remunerate the 
 farmer. He had called on Mr. Saxon, but 
 had found him out, and was very glad there- 
 fore now to see him. It was decided that 
 papers should be printed the next morning, 
 ofiering a reward of fifty pounds for informa- 
 tion that should lead to the apprehension of 
 the person or persons who on the previous
 
 270 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 night had set fire to the corn stacks in 
 Farmer Stuart's barton at Sadbrooke, Mr. 
 Saxon adding his name to those who had 
 subscribed for the reward, as well as to 
 the list for the farmer's benefit, saying, how- 
 ever, as he wrote his name — 
 
 ^* Farmer Stuart doesn't deserve it, for 
 having been so careless. I daresay his 
 lantern was broken, and he wouldn't spend 
 the money to have it mended. And as 
 to that reward, I don't think, IMr. Knightly, 
 notwithstanding all you say, it will ever 
 be called for. I cannot bring myself to 
 believe there has been any incendiary con- 
 nected with it at all." 
 
 '^ 1 wish I could think it was so,'^ said 
 James ; ^' but the people over there think 
 very difierently — I believe they consider 
 it my fault. One man told me plainly 
 this morning, that they had never known
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 271 
 
 such a thing happen before — that learning 
 and fires came together to Sadbrooke, and 
 as the learning came fii'^t, he thought 
 that was what had brought the other." 
 
 ^' It was very ungrateful toAvards Jehu, 
 the son of Nimshi/' said the rector ; '^ I 
 hear, when you left us all last evening, 
 you took up the engine over the bridge. 
 Was it really so, James ? " 
 
 '^ Yes ; there is plenty of room to take 
 over a pair of horses, for those who 
 know the turn. I don't know that it 
 could be done with four ; but they do 
 manage some way or other to take over 
 the hay waggons. The bridge is not so 
 bad as it looks ; there is no real danger 
 for those who know the road." 
 
 " 1 went round that way this morn- 
 ing," said his father, ^'and saw the mark 
 of the wheels. As James says, there is
 
 272 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 plenty of room. It would not do for a 
 stranger or a bad driver to attempt it ; 
 but my boys all' know the road well/' 
 
 Both Mr. Knightly and Mr. Saxon were 
 evidently proud of the feat ; there was 
 but one opinion at Sadborough, as Avell as 
 at the village, that it was only the engine 
 having been brought up at the moment 
 it was, and so well managed, that saved 
 the place. 
 
 ^^ Your people ought to be very much 
 obliged to you, I am sure," said the rector. 
 ^' They have said a great deal about my 
 going last evening, but that was a mere 
 matter of course ; they do not quite yet 
 approve of the school. I hope in time their 
 prejudice will be removed." 
 
 " They are a sad ignorant set, James," 
 said his father. *' I have no doubt Mr. 
 Grey took great pains . with the parish ;
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 273 
 
 you must not expect to do more than those 
 who were before you — must he, Mr. Saxon ?" 
 
 *^ Well, he certainly works harder, and 
 I trust he will have his reward Mr. Grey 
 was so unfortunate in always falling out with 
 the dissenters, that he had not mnch time 
 for anything but disputing. By-the-bye, Mr. 
 Knightly, have you heard of your son's new 
 acquaintance ? I met the dissenting mini- 
 ster here just now ; he called to thank him 
 for saving the Temple of Diana." 
 
 "I am very glad he did so ; I think it 
 shows very good feeling on his part. I 
 have no more sympathy than you have 
 with dissenters myself, but I think courtesy 
 and kindliness always do more in bringing 
 people over to our own way of thinking 
 than the opposite course ; and I have no 
 doubt Mr. Marks, who is a very gentle- 
 manly man, feels better disposed now to- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Chnrcli people than he ever did before in 
 his life." 
 
 " I suppose I must go over and see this 
 ruin at Sadbrooke, and speak to Farmer 
 Stuart," said Mr. Saxon. 
 
 "• Shall T drive you ?" asked the curate. 
 ^' I want to take out the colt, he is very 
 quiet now, I assure you, and we can come 
 up over the bridge." 
 
 " Thank you, James," said the rector, 
 Avith a laugh, ^' but I'd rather walk; though 
 1 suppose you'll look on my refusing as 
 an affront both to yourself and the colt ; 
 but I shall look in at your school — how 
 is it going on ?" 
 
 '^ You must not expect to find it in 
 great order ; but it is doing fairly on 
 the whole, I think. The master is a 
 sensible man, though he was not at first 
 i quite up to his work ; but I hope now
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 275 
 
 lie is getting into the Avay of managing 
 the boys, which was all that was wanted, 
 for he was quite equal to teaching them, 
 and I think now he sees the necessity 
 of making himself respected. One boy, I am 
 sorry to say, has left; his name is Brown. 
 You know his mother, I suppose, who used 
 to live here in Sun Court?" 
 
 ^' Oh ! yes ; Widow Brown, not a very 
 agreeable person. Well, if you have only 
 lost one boy, you ought to be very well 
 satisfied — that is doing very well.'* 
 
 ^^I am afraid I am not easily satis- 
 fied; I do not like losing one. I am very 
 anxious about that boy. I intend going 
 over to-morrow to see his mother, and to 
 get him back, if possible."
 
 ..■» »•.,•■:•..•..•■•'■•'• •■•.••■•.■•■:':■•:• •■■.■':•.■•.•■":■•.■• 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WIDOW brown's cottage. 
 
 WIDOW BROWN left Sun Court, as 
 she told Maude she intended to do, 
 at the New Year, and established herself 
 in the little cottage that belonged to her 
 brother at Sadbrooke. It was certainly far 
 more cheerful and pleasant than her 
 room at Sun Court. The window looked 
 across the road upon a pretty green hedge 
 that, Avhen spring came, would be covered 
 with primroses. It was also a very com- 
 fortable cottage, though laying rather low, 
 and so near the river that part of it was in-
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 277 
 
 clined to be damp ; but when Mrs. Brown 
 and her Lares and Penates, the eight-day 
 clock, the old settle, and a handsome array * 
 of china dogs on the mantel-piece, were 
 settled in, it had a very homeable look. 
 There was, as she phrased it, room enough 
 to turn round in. There was a kitchen, 
 the home of the settle, the clock, and 
 the china dogs ; and an outer kitchen, de- 
 dicated to washing-tubs, garden-tools, &c., 
 one of the walls of which was propped 
 up by a pole to prevent it falling on the 
 head of a passer-by. 
 
 ^^But it was safe enough if the stick 
 was there, and why should anyone go to 
 move it ?" said her brother. 
 
 There was a nice strip of garden run- 
 ning by the side of the Sad, and rooms 
 enough for her to be able to let one to a 
 lodger, by which she could make an addi-
 
 278 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 tion to her small income ; so, on the 
 whole, the move appeared to have been 
 an advantageous one for her. 
 
 On the evening after the fire she was 
 sitting, as usual, very busy, braiding ; her 
 chair was by the side of the fire, and a 
 table was placed sideways before her, 
 across which was thrown the net she was 
 engaged on. Jem Avas loitering about in 
 the room doing nothing, going out pre- 
 sently to fetch in some water, he said, 
 when his mother remonstrated with him on 
 his idleness. 
 
 There was another occupant of the small 
 room, a man about thirty years of age, 
 dressed in a manner something between a 
 labourer and an artisan. He was a rather 
 short, stout man, with a low forehead, 
 and bushy eyebrows that nearly met ; he 
 had lost the sight of one of his eyes,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 279 
 
 apparently by some accident, but the other 
 seemed capable of seeing as much as most 
 people's two, and he had a way of looking 
 round with this one eye almost without 
 turning his head, so that those in the 
 room Y^^ith him were generally somewhat 
 uncomfortably conscious that he was aware 
 of all they were doing. 
 
 He was a stranger at Sadbrooke, and 
 had been introduced to Widow Brown by 
 her brother, who said he had known him 
 formerly, and that he had come to look 
 out for work, and would be glad of a 
 lodging, if she could take him in. 
 
 He now sat in the window, smoking a 
 pipe, and reading his paper. Mrs. Brown 
 did not like smoking, it dirtied the place, 
 but she could not afford to be very par- 
 ticular, the lodger paid her eighteen-pence 
 a week, and that kept them in firing, for
 
 280 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 they could not burn less than that, she 
 said, owing to the place being so damp. 
 
 ^' Why don't 'ee get your book, Jem ?" 
 said she. ^' There do'ee, like a good boy. 
 You'll never read like maister there, if you 
 don't take more pains wi' the larning," 
 
 " The parson's took't my top and my 
 marbles, and I ain't agoing to larn just for 
 to please he," was the reply. ^^ I be a- 
 gohig to be even with he, that I be." 
 
 " What nonsense you be talking up, Jem," 
 said his mother. 
 
 " Iv'e a-been robbed ; I went to larn, 
 not to have my things a-took't," was the 
 reply. 
 
 ^' Go and fetch the water, there be a 
 good boy, and don't talk up no more such 
 stuff. There'll be Thompson's money a-gied 
 away next week, and if you goes and 
 offends the parson, I shan't, mayhap, get 
 none o' it."
 
 THE CURA.TE OF SADBROOKE. 281 
 
 As she spoke there was a knock at the 
 door. 
 
 " See who be there, Jem," said she. 
 
 The boy opened the door. It was a 
 dapper little man, who stood looking in ; he 
 had a very bright smile on his face, and 
 looked as if he meant to make himself very 
 agreeable, and wished to be asked in. 
 
 "It be Mr. Quaver, mother." 
 
 "Ax Mr. Quaver to walk in, then, of 
 course, Jem, can't ee." 
 
 The person in question was almost in 
 before the invitation was given. He had 
 a little bundle, tied up in a handkerchief, 
 in his hand, and the handles of a pair 
 of shears were sticking out of one of 
 his pockets ; for Mr. Quaver followed the 
 honourable calling of a tailor, and had 
 been on a short round among some of 
 his more distant customers, to get orders
 
 282 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 for a little mending and making. He had 
 also another calling, although it was one 
 more honorary than remunerative — it was 
 that of violoncello-player at the brick 
 chapel. He might get a few shillings 
 for this, perhaps, at Christmas, when there 
 was a collection made for the chapel-singers; 
 but as the congregation was not a wealtliy 
 one, he })layed more as a pleasure and 
 relaxation from harder work, than with 
 any view to profit. But he was a very 
 important little man, in his own estima- 
 tion, and he felt the possession of his 
 violoncello, and its green bag, made him 
 very much looked up to. 
 
 '^Good evening, Mrs. Brown," said he. 
 "I was just a-passing, and you being a 
 new comer like, and me having known 
 your good husband as is dead and gone, 
 I thought I'd just a-come in and ask if
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 283 
 
 you was settled in pretty comfortable." 
 ^* Tain^t I as finds much fault/^ was the 
 reply ; ^' 'twere cold to Sun Court, and it 
 be wet here, but it does well enough. 
 I doesn't a-want to be grumbling.'' 
 
 " 'Tis a blessed thing, ma'am, to have 
 a contented mind, which same is a con- 
 tinual feast," said Mr. Quaver, approvingly ; 
 *' but I wishes you more than that, now, only 
 just past Christmas time. I just a-stepped 
 in to say as we be a-going to have a 
 bit o' a tea feast in the little room next 
 to the chapel — it be only sixpence a head, 
 and the tea and cake quite oncommon, 
 not to make no mention of a beautiful 
 speech from one as is coming on purpose, 
 which will be gived afterwards." 
 
 " Sixpences ain't plenty wi' me," said 
 the widow, throwing the net, as she spoke, 
 further over the table with a jerk, as its
 
 284 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 increasing length required, but not, by so 
 doing, delaying the flying needle for a 
 moment ; "me as have got nothing but 
 my work to look to, and a great idle 
 boy for all I've got to take care of me, 
 'cept it be a daughter as be married, and 
 settled in 'Merriky/' 
 
 "You'd most save it in not wanting 
 no tea and no fire at home that evening, '^ 
 suggested the violoncello player. 
 
 " I bean't a chapel-goer, nother,'' said 
 she ; "I don't take kind to it." 
 
 "Laws! Mrs. Brown, that's because 'ee 
 don't a-go to it ; it be different, sure, to 
 church, and a deal more pleasant and light 
 like !" 
 
 "I likes church — I'se used to it. Mr. 
 Saxon gied we a good sermon enough 
 just afore we comed away. I thought 
 I'd go and look at the church once agin
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 285 
 
 afore leaving. 'Twere ' How old be you T 
 There be some as mightn't like to be axed 
 — I'm old enough not to mind." 
 
 ^'And what might he say on that sub- 
 ject, ma'am ?" asked Mr. Quaver, who had 
 now ensconced himself in a very com- 
 fortable chair on the opposite side of the 
 fire. 
 
 Mrs. Brown attempted to give a resume 
 of the sermon, but could only recollect 
 "the parson axed were you thirty, forty 
 years old, on," as she said, "up to 
 seventy, which same I'm not," continued 
 the widow, in mournful parenthesis. " More's 
 the pity, on the 'count of Eobinson's 
 bread." 
 
 " I didn't think you was that dark even 
 to church, ]\Irs. Brown — I didn't, sure. 
 Poor dear souls !" said Mr. Quaver, " to 
 go axing ye of the years of your nat'rel
 
 286 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 life, instead of' a-thinkiiig how many years 
 had ye been in the bonds of iniquity ; 
 which means, I take it, mum," continued 
 he reflectbvely, "how long have ye been 
 sitting down in bondage to forms, in a 
 church which have tied herself to a ty- 
 rannical and unmitigated State." 
 
 He did not quite know the meaning of 
 the words lie had used, but thought they 
 sounded very well, and looked round on 
 his little audience to see if his speech was 
 not approved of. 
 
 *' 'Tis little I knows of church or chapel, 
 either, sir," said the one-eyed man ; " and 
 I can't say I cares to know more ; but 
 I'se with you as consarns the State." 
 
 " I knows nought of the State," said 
 Jem, who did not like to be shut out 
 of the conversation ; '' but if the church 
 means the parson, he've a-treated me real
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 287 
 
 shameful, axing me to go, and then having 
 me caned for nothing, and I'm a-going to 
 be even wi' he." 
 
 The man in the window scarcely moved 
 his head, but he contrived to let Jem 
 see he was looking at him with his one 
 eye ; and the boy, catching the glance, 
 seemed very much like a bird who has 
 been fascinated by a snake ; but he mut- 
 tered again — 
 
 '^ See if I bean't, that be all ; and 
 wi' Gain, too, who won't give me no work." 
 
 *^ Church be so good as chapel any 
 day," said Mrs. Brown, standing up for 
 the place she occasionally favoured with her 
 presence ; '' and we've got the Bible there 
 — you can't a-say nothin' agin that, Mr. 
 Quaver." 
 
 ^^ I'll tell you what I've heerd said once 
 on that 'ere point by an oncommon fine
 
 288 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 speaker as corned one time to our chapel. 
 He said as there was some place in foreign 
 parts where they'd a-tie down a poor soul 
 to a dead body, and then bind 'em both 
 on a wild horse. And that, said he, is 
 like the Bible, as is tied to a dark church, 
 which is carried away by a sinful and evil- 
 minded State." 
 
 ** The State goes on fast enough in 
 giving pensions and money to they as don't 
 want it, and in laying on taxes on the 
 poor, but it be slow enough as to redress- 
 ing wrongs, or doing of any good. How- 
 ever, the time is at hand when we's a-going 
 to be righted. The power will come into 
 the hands of they as knows how to use 
 it for the good of the poor ; and things 
 will be very different soon, if people have 
 only got a little bit of spirit," said the 
 man in the window.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 289 
 
 Mr. Quaver was becoming conscious that 
 this conversation was taking a turn that 
 might not be beneficial to a boy like Jem ; 
 and looking on himself as an instructor of 
 the young, and, indeed, of the ignorant in 
 general, he turned to him, saying, 
 
 ^^ And how be you a-going on, my boy ? 
 Larning be a fine thing, one as we should 
 all get when we can/' 
 
 ^'I bean't a-going on at all,'' replied 
 the boy ; ^^ I be a-going ofi". I'm think- 
 ing of going in the travelling line. I 
 went to school to larn, not to be robbed. 
 The parson have set me a bad example, 
 and he ain't no right to find fault if I 
 foUers it." 
 
 Again the look from the man in the 
 window. Jem would not stand it any 
 longer ; he took the pitcher, and went out 
 for water. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 '^ And so, marm, you thinks as you can't 
 come to our little festivity," said the mu- 
 sician. ^' We endeavours to make it as 
 pleasant and agreeable as we can. There's 
 fine speaking, and beautiful music, though 
 it's not I as should say it, and plenty of 
 the best of tea and sugar, not to speak 
 of the cake, which my missus do say, 
 and her be a judge of such things, ain't 
 to be got the likes of it nowhere to Sad- 
 borough." 
 
 ''Thank ye, Mr. Quaver," replied the 
 widow, still jerking the net as it got 
 longer over the table, and not stopping her 
 work an instant either for that or the 
 talking. " I can't a-spare the time ; and, 
 as I said afore, I doesn't take kind to 
 chapel ; I goes to church when I goes 
 anywhere ; no offence meant, and thank 
 ye all the same."
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 291 
 
 ^^ ^0 thanks needed, marm. I only 
 wished just to look in for a minute on 
 one as I knew her husband and respected 
 in times as is gone ; and I only grieve 
 to hear as you takes so kind to church, 
 into which place I've not a-been since I 
 was a boy, and was took't by them as 
 knew no better ; and into which I'm de- 
 termined I never sets my foot again. 
 Tis a sin for they as have more 
 knowledge to have anything to do with 
 it." 
 
 Jem came in with his pitcher of water, 
 and said the constable from Sadborough 
 had been searching all over the farmyard, 
 and had found the flint and steel belong- 
 ins: to the tinder-box that was discovered 
 the night before. 
 
 ^^ Though how they knows that one be- 
 lonpfs to the other, I can't think," said the
 
 292 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 boy. " They'll fit the things to somebody 
 next." 
 
 '^ The corn ain^t much loss," said the 
 one-eyed man ; ^^ it wasn't doing no good 
 in the farm-yard, and it won't do any 
 good now, that's all ; the poor won't be 
 none the worse now it's gone than if it 
 had stayed." 
 
 ^' I was most a- thinking the church 
 would have been burnt at one time," 
 said Mr. Quaver. '' I was thankful ive 
 was safe out of the way." 
 
 He meant by " we " the brick chapel. 
 
 " It looked dreadful, though, to see the 
 light in the tower from here ; it made 
 me feel quite awsome like," said Mrs. 
 Brown. " I couldn't go to bed, I was 
 afeard of the thatch." 
 
 '^ Nor more didn't my missus, her was 
 in such a way about the children ; 'twas
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROORE. 293 
 
 a marcy 'twas no worse," said Mr. Quaver. 
 
 ** I must say 'twould have grieved I terrible 
 if the church had a-caught, though I can't • 
 say I likes this so well as thick down to 
 Sadborough, nor Mr. Knightly nigh so Avell 
 as Mr. Saxon, he be so young and wild 
 like ; sober folks suits me best, but I must 
 say the church do look beautiful with the 
 wreaths and all of it. I went last Sunday 
 purpose to see it.'' 
 
 " You don't a-mean to say, Mrs. Brown, 
 as you've got wreaths and garlands up to 
 church, like as they dark heathen made, and 
 a-twisted up to' pay worship to Jupiter?" 
 inquired Mr. Quaver. ^' I should really like 
 to see 'em, not that I'd a-look on 'em, 
 no, not if I was paid for that same ; and as 
 to going inside that church, it's where I shall 
 never be, you depend on it." 
 
 ^^ I don't suppose as any one cares to see
 
 294 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 you there," said Mrs. Brown, rather sharply; 
 '^ and why shouldn't 'em put up the wreaths 
 and the crosses? I likes to see places look 
 nice, I always did, and it does look un- 
 common pretty for sure. Church always is 
 done up different to chapel; the gentlefolks 
 goes there, and they likes it." 
 
 Notwithstanding her rude manner towards 
 them, Mrs. Brown liked going to the same 
 jdace of worship as the gentlefolks, and de- 
 spised the brick chapel intensely. Mr. Quaver 
 was so comfortable in his seat by the lire, he 
 did not like to move and go out into the 
 frosty air ; but it was drawing on to his tea 
 time,' and as he had been out all day, 
 Mrs. Quaver would be expecting him, besides 
 he did not feel quite at home with Mrs. 
 Brown, he did not think he should be able 
 to draw her over to go to chapel, or even 
 to the tea-meeting ; and he was a little afraid
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 295 
 
 of the strange man in the window — he was 
 not quite sure whether his views were the 
 really true and excellent ones he held him- 
 self, or whether they were such as it would 
 not become him, the father of a respectable 
 family, and a small tradesman, as he called 
 himself, of the village, and one of the sup- 
 porters of the chapel, to approve of. * So, 
 taking up his little bundle which he had 
 laid by his side, he rose, and as though to 
 do away with the effects of anything that in 
 the course of conversation might have been 
 said that was wrong, he told Jem he hoped 
 ^Mie'd be a good boy, and go to school; they 
 hadn't no school to chapel ; he wished they 
 had, so he must take what he could get, 
 and when he had got the laming, he could 
 make better use of it than they as had taught 
 him." Then taking a friendly leave of Mrs. 
 Brown, and a rather distant one of the man
 
 296 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 in the window, who appeared to be reading 
 his paper too diligently to attend to him, he 
 ;went out of the cottage. 

 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 MR. QUAVER AT CHURCH. 
 
 TITHEN the favourite hero of that most 
 renowned of chroniclers, Cid Hamete 
 Ben Engeli, fought his famous battle with 
 the windmills, he did it in the full belief 
 that he was eno^ao:ed in combat on the side 
 of right against giants of robbery and op- 
 pression. It was a deep and a bitter satire, 
 yet one that never would have been written 
 had not many such battles been fought in 
 those days, and which, although we have 
 most of us known the story from our child- 
 hood, does not prevent many more being
 
 298 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 entered into even now. How many weapons 
 are sharpened and polished to engage in 
 such a cause! How much of purpose, will, 
 strength, energy, time, and talent is ex- 
 pended in inveighing against and attempt- 
 ing to overturn things and institutions, 
 harmless and oftentimes useful, while the 
 demons of self and pride, in our own hearts, 
 and of poverty and ignorance in the world 
 around us, are allowed to reign and rule 
 comparatively untouched and unharmed. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! that it should be so — that 
 men should still prefer doing battle with 
 the windmills rather than with those giant 
 foes, within and without, against whom 
 their weapons might do good service. Yet 
 if this be indeed true, then by the memory 
 of some small tilt that most of us at 
 some time or other of our lives have run 
 against an imaginary foe, with energies that
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 299 
 
 might have been so much better employed, 
 let us at least show tenderness towards 
 those whom we see engaged in a like visionary 
 warfare. And therefore it is that I ask 
 that some small share of pity, or at least 
 forbearance, may be extended towards an 
 action that is about to be recorded as 
 having been perpetrated by Mr. Quaver. 
 
 It was quite true what that worthy had 
 stated to Mrs. Brown, that he had not 
 entered a church since he was a boy. 
 He had determined he would not do so ; 
 he believed, or endeavoured to make him- 
 self believe, that he belonged to a higher 
 and holier community ; that a State church 
 was a disgrace to the people who allowed 
 such an establishment ; that it told only of 
 tyranny and oppression on the one hand, 
 and slavery and ignorance on the other ; 
 and that all those who even entered one
 
 300 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 of these buildings were helping and assisting, 
 one way or the other, in continuing the 
 wrong. 
 
 That evening he had been particularly 
 determined in his asseverations that he never 
 would enter a church. But when a person 
 strenuously asserts he will never do any- 
 thing, it seems as though some evil genius 
 was equally determined he should, and 
 so presses on the unfortunate victim, until 
 the deed having been done past recall, he 
 becomes suddenly aware of the presence 
 of the evil imp, who, sitting there, as it 
 were, on his shoulder, looks over into his 
 face, grinning and mocking at the folly 
 he has induced him to commit. 
 
 It therefore happened that, after leaving 
 Mrs. Brown's cottage, instead of pursuing 
 his way to his own home, Mr. Quaver went 
 up the hill by the church. The door was
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 301 
 
 Open just a little ; he would never have 
 perceived it had he not been looking in- 
 tently at it. There was no one near ; he 
 looked carefully up and down the road ; he 
 would just go in and see w^hat it was 
 like ; take one walk round ; it was right 
 he should see for himself what had been 
 done, that he might denounce it in his 
 speech at the approaching meeting, and 
 then he would go home to tea. 
 
 He opened the little wicket-gate, and 
 found himself in the churchyard ; he entered 
 the porch, pushed the door a little more 
 open, and Mr. Quaver was at length in 
 the parish church of Sadbrooke. He looked 
 around him ; the Christmas decorations had 
 not yet been taken down ; they were not 
 so fresh as when they were first put up, 
 but the greater part still looked very 
 screen and bright. He walked round.
 
 302 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 struck with amazement at all he saw. 
 He read the inscription over the singing- 
 gallery, and began to soliloquise : 
 
 ^^Poor dark souls!" said he to himself, 
 "poor benighted creatures ! I didn't 
 think they were quite so bad as this. 
 I know'd summut of this sort was done 
 in Mr. Grey's time, and I shouldn't a-won- 
 dered at anything that went on down at 
 Sadborough with Mr. Saxon, but I'd a- 
 hoped better things of young Mr. Knightly. 
 I've a-been looking, yea, a-straining of my 
 eyes, for the time when he'd leave this 
 here Great Babylon as is joined to the 
 kings of the earth, and come and sit 
 down in fellowship along with us, as calls 
 no man master." 
 
 He went a little further, still read- 
 ino^. 
 
 c 
 
 " ^ Peace on earth,' well, that's Scripture,
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 303 
 
 and Tve nought to say agen Scripture ; 
 but they read it in the light of their own 
 dark hearts, the poor blinded souls ! They Ve 
 a-got what they calls peace, and they covers 
 it over with the flowers of this world ; but 
 it's nothing more," he continued, speaking 
 aloud in his excitement, ^' than the stag- 
 nant pool of fetid corruption, and they'll 
 all be a-stifled in it when the time do 
 come.'' 
 
 He did not exactly say amen audibly to 
 this observation of his own, and yet at 
 the same time it was a desire not very 
 far from his heart. He continued his 
 walk, observing the wreaths round the pil- 
 lars, and muttering to himself something 
 about garlands and sacrifices, and likening 
 the curate to the priest of Jupiter, when 
 his peregrinations brought him in due 
 course to the chancel, and he saw tlie
 
 304 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 small cross suspended over the communion- 
 table, at which sight his indignation reached 
 its highest pitch. 
 
 The feeling came over him that it was 
 for him to shew the exceeding sinfulness 
 of having put this up — that it was his 
 mission to take it down. He mounted, 
 almost unknowing what he was doing, upon 
 one of the chairs; but he could not reach 
 it. He was quite, by this time, carried 
 away by his excitement; he mounted the 
 table, he unfastened the little cross — it 
 was easily done — the berries fell in a 
 shower from his rough grasp ; he flung 
 it from him into the aisle. 
 
 " And they called it Nehushtan ! " said 
 Mr. Quaver. 
 
 He came down from his altitude with 
 some difficulty, panting and puffing with 
 the unusual exertion.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 305 
 
 ^^ I've a-lifted up my voice like a trumpet !" 
 said he, speaking now quite aloud ; '^ I've 
 a-torn down with my own hands the 
 idol, and 111 tread it under my feet !" 
 
 So, suiting the action to the word, he 
 trampled, with well-meaning but most 
 ignorant zeal, on the fragile little symbol ; the 
 slender wooden support was rent into a hun- 
 dred splinters, and the pavement was 
 thickly stained with the juice of the 
 berries. 
 
 Just at this moment he thought he 
 heard a footstep, and a slight click, but 
 looking round and seeing nothing, he 
 continued his work. The light, which had 
 been fading for some time, was now 
 quite dying away. He began to think he 
 would return home. He walked back 
 through the aisle, still sighing in his spirit, 
 but the fervour of his zeal was very much 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 abated, perhaps, now the deed was done, it 
 did not look quite so well as he thought 
 at the time — perhaps the cold of the even- 
 ing had chilled it. 
 
 He went to the door — it was shut; he 
 turned the handle, it did not open ; he tried 
 it harder, it was fastened ; he rattled at 
 it, he could not make it move. He called 
 aloud, forgetting the danger of being dis- 
 covered, there was no answer. Poor Mr. 
 Quaver ! Heavy drops of perspiration stood 
 on his forehead, his limbs trembled under 
 him, thoughts one after another crowded 
 into his mind in a way they had never 
 done before. 
 
 It was the hour when his wife would 
 have ready for him the hot cup of tea 
 which was to keep out the cold ; there was 
 nothing to keep it out here, and the con- 
 sequence was, it got in. He shook more
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 307 
 
 and more ; the image of young Mr. Knightly, 
 with that stern look which he had seen 
 once or twice, presented itself to his ima- 
 gination ; the apparition of Mr. Saxon seemed 
 as although already present to his bodily 
 eyes ; the presence of Mr. Knightly, sen., 
 in his magisterial capacity, still more fear- 
 ful, stood before the unhappy little tailor. 
 He had not the slightest idea what punish- 
 ment he had laid himself open to ; he had 
 so talked himself into the belief of the 
 tyranny of Church and State, that now, 
 with the sense of having laid himself 
 open to just censure, nothing seemed too 
 bad for them to inflict upon him. He 
 thought of doing penance in a white sheet, 
 of being put into prison, of being sent 
 beyond seas. He thought of a certain little 
 box with a chimney in it, which stood on 
 his mantel-piece — he thought all it con- 
 
 x2
 
 308 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 tained might be taken — that is, if they were 
 very lenient — as a fine ; that might not be 
 enough ; he thought of a snug little sum 
 in the savings bank, that might be required; 
 and — oh ! fearful thought ! — if they got 
 hold of it, they would doubtless spend it 
 in adorning the church ! 
 
 By this time it was quite dark — the 
 moon had not yet risen; when it did, he 
 thought he would try the windows, and 
 walk round to the small door, in hopes 
 of finding that unfastened. He therefore 
 went into the best pew he could find, 
 and wrapping himself up as warmly as 
 he could in the cushions and carpets, fell 
 asleep. 
 
 When he awoke, the clock struck eight 
 — it was the hour when Mrs. Quaver was 
 wont to prepare for her caro sjjoso some- 
 thing still better than tea, for the same
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 309 
 
 purpose, to keep out the cold. He thought 
 of the snug little room, the kettle sing- 
 ing merrily on the hob ; and at the thought 
 of all this, the cold got in still more. He 
 thought again of all the terrors of the 
 law that could be inflicted upon him if 
 he should be found. He went round to 
 look for the little door ; when at length 
 he found it, it was fastened as hope- 
 lessly as the other. The windows were 
 too high for him to attempt to try them 
 — he returned to the pew. 
 
 " They'd never a-punish anyone worse 
 than this," said he to himself; ^^ I'd rather 
 be in prison to once. How do I know 
 but the White Lady may come herself 
 — it's the very night of the full moon, I 
 do. believe!" 
 
 He had not thought of this before — it 
 was a dreadful idea ! The White Lady
 
 310 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 Avas not supposed to extend her walk so 
 far, but she might do so — church people 
 were much such Papishers as she was — she 
 might come on purpose to punish him, and 
 the unfortunate man^s teeth chattered in his 
 head at the mere idea. 
 
 The clock struck hour after hour ; never 
 had hours seemed so lonsj to him before. 
 He thought of the agony and distress of 
 Mrs. Quaver; he thought of the tears and the 
 fears of the little Quavers. At length he 
 again fell into a slumber, out of which he 
 awoke with a terrified start, thinking he 
 felt the chill breath of the White Lady on 
 his cheek — it was but a cold blast of the 
 night air that blew in through a chink in 
 the window. The moon was now shining 
 in its full beauty, lighting up the church 
 almost as if it were day, although with some* 
 thing of an almost unearthly brightness.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 811 
 
 He again left the pew, and piling some 
 cushions on a seat beneath one of the win- 
 dows, contrived with difficulty to look out. 
 The churchyard lay in perfect stillness, the 
 moon shining with cold lustre on the 
 graves; opposite was the ruin of the farm- 
 house, a sad miserable object in the bright 
 light of day — a weird and spectral one at 
 this hour of the night. He could not 
 bear to look at it; he would return again 
 to the pew — it was the best place. He 
 was getting down off the cushions, when 
 he saw two figures emerge from behind 
 a wall of the ruin, and enter in at the 
 wicket gate of the churchyard. 
 
 The simplest figure in the world may be 
 changed by the fear of a terrified imagination 
 into something as different as possible from 
 itself; and when this imagination is aided 
 by the uncertain beams of the moonlight,
 
 312 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 nothing is too outrageons to be supposed. 
 
 They were unmistakeably men, or, rather, 
 a man and a boy; but the white light fell 
 on them both strongly, and Mr. Quaver 
 most fully and entirely believed it was the 
 White Lady, accompanied by some other 
 nun, also, as he afterwards declared, dressed 
 in a long white veil, who had come to carry 
 him away. 
 
 How he got out of the window he never 
 knew ; how he found liis way through the 
 church, he was never able to describe ; 
 how he entered the belfry, always remained 
 as much a mystery to himself as to others ; 
 but in some way he did reach it, and just 
 at the very time that the clock peeled 
 fortli the hour of twelve, runir stroke after 
 stroke, heavy, dull, terrified strokes, on one 
 of the bells. 
 
 It startled everyone from tlieir sleep ;
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 313 
 
 people do not at once sink down into their 
 usual state of quiescence after such an event 
 as the fire of the night before ; and fire 
 was in everyone's thoughts, and on the 
 lips of not a few when the sound was 
 heard. The village was astir; the inquiry 
 passing from mouth to mouth, "Where be 
 it ? — where be the fire now ?" 
 
 But there was no fire, and, indeed, the 
 keys of the church were safe in the pos- 
 session of the sexton. Under these circum- 
 stances, it needed much courage to enter 
 the church ; but the sexton and parish 
 constable did at length undertake the 
 adventure ; and there, in the belfry, lying 
 on the floor, almost senseless with terror 
 and cold, was the miserable Mr. Quaver ! 
 
 The distress of his wife for some hours 
 had been very great. She had formed a 
 hundred ideas, none of them very reason-
 
 314 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 able, as to what had become of her hus- 
 band. He was drowned in the Sad ; " he'd 
 a-run away from his home ;" he was gone 
 to look for work ; he Avas gone away to 
 a chapel. But when the bell rang out, 
 not being, like the rest, awoke out of 
 sleep, she came at once to a just idea of 
 the cause of his absence, exclaiming : 
 
 " He've a-been and a-got hisself shut up in 
 the church !" 
 
 Mrs. Quaver was a tall, strong-minded 
 woman, and not being afraid of ghosts, 
 went immediately to the sexton ; and it 
 was she who insisted on the church being 
 opened, and going in with the sexton and 
 constable, found her husband in the state 
 that has been described. 
 
 The next morning, when James Knightly 
 went over to Sadbrooke, he heard the tale, 
 with many alterations and many additions.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 315 
 
 The White Lady had certainly paid a visit 
 to the village. " She'd a-shut up Mr. Quaver 
 in the church ; he'd never have a-gone 
 there of himself/' said those of his own per- 
 suasion. "He went there after no good," 
 said others ; but no one had been into the 
 church since they found him, nor had the 
 sexton even then gone round. 
 
 The curate procured the keys, and went 
 in. All looked much as usual ; he walked 
 through the aisle, and up the church, and 
 did not miss the cross until he saw some- 
 thing lying on the ground, and then, look- 
 ing up, he saw what had taken place. 
 
 He was naturally very angry ; he had 
 admired the little cross, with its green 
 leaves and red berries, so very much ; it 
 had been so very kind of Maude to inter- 
 est herself in doing anything for his 
 church, and that she should be requited
 
 316 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 in this manner by any of his people was 
 really most shameful. But then, far worse 
 was the desecration of the church, the 
 tearing to pieces of the holy symbol ; he 
 did feel it was quite an act of profanity. 
 
 He went round the church, and found 
 nothing else had been touched ; the poor- 
 box had evidently not been opened, the 
 books and everything else appeared right. 
 By the time this survey was over, his 
 anger had cooled down considerably. He 
 did not think it less wrong, but his thoughts 
 had now run again into their usual channel, 
 and pity and commiseration for the folly 
 and miserable ignorance that could have 
 induced any one to act in such a manner 
 were the uppermost feelings in his heart. 
 He felt sure, himself, knowing the man, 
 tliat it was Mr. Quaver who had done it ; 
 but as the sexton owned to having left the
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 317 
 
 church door open, he had no actual evi- 
 dence to prove it. Some other person 
 might have enteretl and done the mischief, 
 and then Mr. Quaver might have come in, 
 and been the one caught, through his own 
 stupidity. Besides, he felt sure no punish- 
 ment could have been devised so terrific to the 
 unfortunate man as the one he had brought 
 on himself ; and the curate was cruel 
 enough to enjoy the thought tliat such 
 was the case, and to image to himself, 
 with some pleasure, Mr. Quaver's horror 
 when he really found he had to spend 
 the night alone in the church. 
 
 So, after locking the door carefully, he 
 took the key back to the sexton, and told 
 him that some mischievous person had 
 injured part of the decorations ; he should 
 inquire into the matter, but as they were 
 all becoming faded, they had better be
 
 318 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 taken down, and the church cleared before 
 the next Sunday ; and at the same time he 
 desired the man to be careful in future not 
 to leave the door open. It was very sad 
 to think that people could not be allowed 
 to go in and out of the church at any 
 time ; but as they had proved they could 
 not be trusted, for the present, at least, it 
 must certainly be kept locked. 
 
 The sexton appeared very much shocked 
 to hear what had occurred, and promised 
 to be more careful in future. The curate 
 then proceeded to call on Mr. Quaver ; the 
 door was opened, in answer to his knock, 
 by Mrs. Quaver. She was not altogether 
 surprised to see him, although she knew 
 nothing of the matter of taking down 
 the cross, her husband having most care- 
 fully kept his own counsel with respect to 
 it.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 319 
 
 *^Is Mr. Quaver at home? I wish to 
 speak to him," was the inquiry. 
 
 " He's at home, sir, but he's in bed ; 
 he've a-caught a dreadful cold, and he's fit 
 to see no one." 
 
 The curate did not by any means credit 
 this story, but he was not at all inclined 
 to be compassionate towards Mr. Quaver if 
 he was ill. 
 
 '^I've been into the church," he said, 
 ^'and I find that a most disgraceful attack 
 was made last night upon part of the deco- 
 rations ; as I understand your husband was 
 shut up in the church, and frightened the 
 people of the village by ringing the bell at 
 midnight, of course I must suppose he was 
 the person who did the mischief." 
 
 Mrs. Quaver was enlightened at once ; 
 she felt as sure as her informant who had 
 been the perpetrator of the mischief, but
 
 320 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 she was equal to the emergency, and did 
 her best for her husband. 
 
 ^^You must have made a great mistake, 
 sir," she said. ^^ My husband was un- 
 fortunate enough just to go into the 
 church, finding it open, and he not being 
 quick of hearing, did not know when 
 they shut the door ; but to think of a 
 man as is a respectable tradesman, and 
 the father of six small children, who he 
 wishes to bring up honest and decent, 
 and one who works regular, morning, and, 
 as I may say, almost night too, a-doing 
 of wrong to anybody, is a thing as can't 
 be. You knows what my husband is, Mr. 
 Knightly, and you know he'd no more 
 do harm to the church than you would 
 to the chapel — you who saved the other, 
 sir !" 
 
 The compliment was the worst part of
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 321 
 
 the speech, it nearly lost her her cause. 
 
 " I wish to speak to your husband him- 
 self." 
 
 ^^Law, sir, I've a-just tookt him up 
 some gruel, and I hopes he's asleep ; 'twas 
 a dreadful night for any one to be out 
 in that church, and he not strong either. 
 I do wonder " — and she put up her apron 
 to her eyes — " I do feel terribly hurted " 
 — and she sobbed aloud — '^ that you should 
 ever have thought my husband" — and she 
 gasped as she spoke the word — ^^ could 
 have a-done such a wicked — wicked thing !" 
 
 She was sobbing and crying in great 
 distress by the time the speech was ended, 
 but he was very hard-hearted. 
 
 " I shall call again," he said, turning 
 away. 
 
 Mr. Quaver had heard it all ; he was 
 not asleep, he had not had any gruel, 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 
 
 but the sound of the curate's voice made 
 him hotter than any gruel could have 
 done. He admired his wife's readiness 
 and self-possession extremely, she certainly 
 was a wonderful woman ; but he knew 
 well enough she would give him a good 
 scolding now, and not easily forget the 
 matter. And so she did ; he woidd ruin 
 her, and the six small children, she told 
 him. It had only been her who had saved 
 him, if he was saved; but Mr. Knightly looked 
 very angry, and no wonder he was going to 
 call again, and what would he do then ? 
 
 He was really ill with a bad cold, and all 
 this row and anxiety made his head ache 
 terribly. On the whole, he was pretty well 
 punished for what he had done. 
 
 In the course of the day James Knightly 
 saw Mr. Saxon, and told him what had 
 happened.
 
 THE CURATE OF SADBROOKE. 323 
 
 " You'd much better be quiet, James," 
 he said. " If you make a martyr of a 
 fellow like that, you'll set them all up to 
 a degree, that even your preaching will 
 not be enough to keep people from the 
 brick chapel." 
 
 It was good advice. James took the 
 first opportunity that offered of speaking 
 seriously to Mr. Quaver on the subject, 
 who prevaricated as much as possible, but 
 did not altogether deny the act, and the 
 curate enjoyed seeing that he was despe- 
 rately frightened. l^o further notice was 
 taken of the affair, but no one ever 
 again did any mischief to the little church 
 at Sadbrooke. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LOJfDON : PKTXTED BY BIACDON^U) AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 . -PJi'