ool, and the
sewing-class--for he was well loved, was our vicar, in spite, or perhaps
because, of his offering such a contrast to the larger number of his
flock.

He was a bachelor, and his sister kept house for him--a quiet,
middle-aged lady a little older than himself, and more accomplished than
most of the Chewton ladies were, not only in music and needlework, but
in the matter of pickles, puddings, preserves, and domestic medicine,
about which she and the doctor had many pleasant discussions, as he
declared she was the best friend he had, since her herb-tea and
electuaries made people fancy they were ill enough to send for him to
complete their cure. That the vicar should have remained unmarried for
so many years had almost ceased to be a topic for speculation, for it
had somehow become known that some great sorrow had befallen him years
before, and it was supposed that he had been "crossed in love;" though,
to give them credit, there were unmarried ladies of the congregation who
never could and never would believe that a young man such as he must
have been, could have spoken in vain to any well-regulated young person
possessed of a heart. They came to the conclusion, therefore, that he
never _told_ his love; and as he had certainly never told it to _them_,
only a few of his more intimate friends knew that the shadow which had
fallen on the lives of those two kindly beings at the vicarage was the
early marriage of a younger sister with some adventurer, who had taken
her away from the home to which she never had been returned. Only
occasional tidings were received of her, for she was seldom to be found
at any stated address, and was travelling with her husband from one poor
lodging to another in the large towns, where they had sometimes sought
for her in vain.

But the vicar was no kill-joy. He entered with hearty good-will into the
scheme for weekly penny readings, and delivered an address at the
preliminary meeting, in which he alluded with a sly touch of humour to
the capabilities of Mr. Binks, the saddler, who was reputed to sing a
famous comic song, and of Raspall, the baker, who had once tried his
hand at an original Christmas carol. He even called upon the ladies--and
we were all of us rather shocked at the time--to bring their music; and
as a piano had actually been hired from somewhere, and stood on the
platform, he called upon his sister for a song there and then, and she
actually--we _were_ surprised--sa