There was
something odd with her this afternoon.
"Don't you like your present?"
"Darling, it is beautiful," she stooped and kissed him again,
passionately.
"I've a present for father, too; a book. Why are you walking so
fast?" In a little while he asked again, "Why are you walking so
fast?"
"I--I thought you would be wanting your tea."
"Mayn't I take father his book first?"
She did not answer.
"But mayn't I?" he persisted.
They had reached the garden-gate. Humility seemed to hesitate.
"Yes; go," she said at length; and he ran, with the _De Imitatione
Christi_ under his arm.
As he came within view of the church he saw a knot of men gathered
about the door. They were pulling something out from the porch.
He heard the noise of hammering, and Squire Moyle, at the back of the
crowd, was shouting at the top of his voice:
"The church is yours, is it? I'll see about that! Pitch out the
furnitcher, my billies--_that's_ mine, anyway!"
Still the hammers sounded within the church.
"Don't believe in sudden convarsion, don't 'ee? I reckon you will
when you look round your church. Bishop coming to consecrate it, is
he? Consecrate _my_ furnitcher? I'll see you and your bishop to
blazes first!"
A heap of shattered timber came flying through the porch.
"_Your_ church, hey? _Your_ church?"
The crowd fell back and Mr. Raymond stood in the doorway, between
Bill Udy and Jim the Huntsman.
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