The boy shook Ermine's hand with his soldierly grace, but rather spoilt
the effect thereof by his aside, "I wanted to see the toad and the
pictures our Miss Williams told me about, but I'll come another time;"
and the wink of his black eyes, and significant shrug of his shoulders
at Rachel, were irresistible. They all laughed, even Rachel herself, as
Ermine, seeing it would be worse to ignore the demonstration, said, "The
elements of aunt and boy do not always work together."

"No," said Rachel; "I have never been forgiven for being the first
person who tried to keep those boys in order."

"And now," said Ermine, turning to her other visitor, "perhaps I may
discover which of us, or of our uncles, preached a sermon."

"Mine, I suspect," returned Mr. Keith. "Your sister and I made out at
luncheon that you had known my uncle, Mr. Clare, of Bishopsworthy."

"Mr. Clare! Oh yes," cried Ermine eagerly, "he took the duty for one
of our curates once for a long vacation. Did you ever hear him speak of
Beauchamp?"

"Yes, often; and of Dr. Williams. He will be very much interested to
hear of you."

"It was a time I well remember," said Ermine. "He was an Oxford tutor
then, and I was about fourteen, just old enough to be delighted to hear
clever talk. And his sermons were memorable; they were the first I ever
listened to."

"There are few sermons that it is not an infliction to listen to," began
Rachel, but she was not heard or noticed.

"I assure you they are even more striking now in his blindness."

"Blindness! Indeed, I had not heard of that."

Even Rachel listened with interest as the young officer explained that
his uncle, whom both he and Miss Williams talked of as a man of note, of
whom every one must have heard, had for the last four years been totally
blind, but continued to be an active parish priest, visiting regularly,
preaching, and taking a share in the service, which he knew by heart. He
had, of course, a curate, who lived with him, and took very good care of
him.

"No one else?" said Rachel. "I thought your sister lived at
Bishopsworthy."

"No, my sister lives, or has lived, at Little Worthy, the next parish,
and as unlike it as possible. It has a railroad in it, and the cockneys
have come down on it and 'villafied' it. My aunt, Mrs. Lacy Clare, has
lived there ever since my sister has been with her; but now her last
daughter is to be married, she wishes to give up housekeeping."

"And your sister i