to
the flitches and hams suspended from the ceiling a lively reality which
neither daylight nor petroleum could ever produce. As the shadows danced
among them, the kitchen became peopled with friendly presences; a new
fragrance pervaded the place, bearing a hint of good things to come. No
wonder that Perryman loved the spot.

To-night, however, there was another object in the room, of so alien a
nature that any self-respecting ham or flitch, had it possessed a
reasonable soul, would have been sorely tempted to "heave half a brick"
at the intruder. This object stood gleaming on a table in the middle of
the room. It was a bran-new and brilliantly polished tall hat.

"No," said Farmer Perryman, "it's not for Sundays. It's for a weddin'!
You'll never see me wearing a box-hat on Sundays again. Will he,
missis?" (Mrs. Perryman said, "I don't expect he will.") "No sir, not
again! Not that I don't mean to go to church regular. I've done that all
my life.

"Yes, you're quite right. Folks in the villages don't go to church as
they used to do when I was a young man, and I'm sorry to see it. Folks
nowadays seems to have forgotten as they've got to die. Besides, it's
not good for farmin'. Show me any parish in the county where there's
first-class farmin', and I'll bet you three to one there's a good
congregation in the church.

"What's driven 'em away, did you say? Well, if you want my opinion, it's
my belief as this 'ere Church Restoration has as much to do wi' it as
anything else. There's been a lot o' new doctrine, it's true, and all
this 'ere 'Igh Churchism, as I could never make head nor tail of; and
that, no doubt, has offended some o' the old-fashioned folk like me. But
it's when they starts restoring the old churches, and makin' 'em all
spick and span, that the religious feelin' seems to die out on 'em, and
folks begins to stop goin'. You might as well be in a concert hall--the
place full o' chairs and smellin' o' varnish enough to make you sick,
and a lot o' lads in the chancel dressed up in white gowns, and suckin'
sweets, and chuckin' paper pellets at one another all through the
sermon. That's not what _I_ call religion!

"I've often told our parson as it were the worst day's work he ever did
when he had our church restored. And a lot o' money it cost, too; but
not a penny would I give, and I told 'em I wouldn't--no, not if they'd
gone down on their bended knees. From that day to this our church has
never _smelt_ ri