!" he said.

Adela patted her brother fondly, remarking--"Yes, when his feelings are
concerned."

"Will you repeat zat?" asked the Greek. "'To-to-ri:' hein? I lose it.
'To-to-ru:' bah! I lose it; 'To-ri:--to--ru--ri ro:' it is no use: I lose
it."

Neither his persuasions, nor his sneer, "Because it is Sunday, perhaps!"
would induce Wilfrid to be guilty of another attempt. The ladies tried
sisterly cajoleries on him fruitlessly, until Mr. Pole, seeing the
desperation of his guest, said: "Why not have her up here, toon and all,
some week-day? Sunday birds won't suit us, you know. We've got a piano
for her that's good enough for the first of 'em, if money means
anything."

The ladies murmured meekly: "Yes, papa."

"I shall find her for you while you go to your charch," said Mr.
Pericles. And here Wilfrid was seized with a yawn, and rose, and asked
his eldest sister if she meant to attend the service that morning.

"Undoubtedly," she answered; and Mr. Pole took it up: "That's our
discipline, my boy. Must set an example: do our duty. All the house goes
to worship in the country."

"Why, in ze country?" queried Mr. Pericles.

"Because"--Cornelia came to the rescue of her sire; but her impetuosity
was either unsupported by a reason, or she stooped to fit one to the
comprehension of the interrogator: "Oh, because--do you know, we have
very select music at our church?"

"We have a highly-paid organist," added Arabella.

"Recently elected," said Adela.

"Ah! mon Dieu!" Mr. Pericles ejaculated. "Some music sound well at
afar--mellow, you say. I prefer your charch music mellow."

"Won't you come?" cried Wilfrid, with wonderful briskness.

"No. Mellow for me!"

The Greek's grinders flashed, and Wilfrid turned off from him sulkily. He
saw in fancy the robber-Greek prowling about Wilson's farm, setting
snares for the marvellous night-bird, and it was with more than his
customary inattention to his sisters' refined conversation that he formed
part of their male escort to the place of worship.

Mr. Pericles met the church-goers on their return in one of the green
bowery lanes leading up to Brookfield. Cold as he was to English scenes
and sentiments, his alien ideas were not unimpressed by the picture of
those daintily-clad young women demurely stepping homeward, while the air
held a revel of skylarks, and the scented hedgeways quickened with
sunshine.

"You have missed a treat!" Arabella greeted him.

"A sermon?"