had been when they had
known Joan Lowrie only as a "lass" who held herself aloof, and yet in
a manner overruled them; but in these days more than one stunted,
overworked girl or woman found her hard task rendered easier by Joan's
strength and swiftness.

It was true that his quiet and unremitted efforts had smoothed Grace's
path to some extent. There were ill-used women whom he had helped and
comforted; there were neglected children whose lives he had contrived
to brighten; there were unbelievers whose scoffing his gentle simplicity
and long-suffering had checked a little. He could be regarded no longer
with contempt in Riggan; he even had his friends there.

Among those who still mildly jeered at the little Parson stood foremost,
far more through vanity than malice, "Owd Sammy Craddock." A couple of
months after Lowrie's death, "Owd Sammy" had sauntered down to the mine
one day, and was entertaining a group of admirers when Grace went by.

It chanced that, for some reason best known to himself, Sammy was by no
means in a good humor. Something had gone wrong at home or abroad, and
his grievance had rankled and rendered him unusually contumacious.

Nearing the group, Grace looked up with a faint but kindly smile.

"Good-morning!" he said; "a pleasant day, friends!"

"Owd Sammy" glanced down at him with condescending tolerance. He had
been talking himself, and the greeting had broken in upon his eloquence.

"Which on us," he asked dryly; "which on us said it wur na?"

A few paces from the group of idlers Joan Lowrie stood at work. Some
of the men had noted her presence when they lounged by, but in the
enjoyment of their gossip, they had forgotten her again. She had seen
Grace too; she had heard his greeting and the almost brutal laugh that
followed it; and, added to this, she had caught a passing glimpse of the
Curate's face. She dropped her work, and, before the laugh had died out,
stood up confronting the loungers.

"If theer is a mon among yo' as he has harmed," she said; "if theer's
one among yo' as he's ivver done a wrong to, let that mon speak up."

It was "Owd Sammy" who was the first to recover himself. Probably he
remembered the power he prided himself upon wielding over the weaker
sex. He laid aside his pipe for a moment and tried sarcasm,--an
adaptation of the same sarcasm he had tried upon the Curate.

"Which on us said theer wur?" he asked.

Joan turned her face, pale with repressed emotion, towa