"Yes, my dear, just so," returned Miss Mewlstone. She always called
her patroness "my dear."

"Miss Mewlstone gave me the heads of the sermon, so it was not quite
labor lost, as regards one of your flock. I am afraid you think me a
black sheep because I stay away so often,--a very black sheep, eh, Mr.
Drummond?"

"It is not for me to judge," he said, still more awkwardly. "Headaches
are very fair excuses; and if one be not blessed with good
health----"

"My health is perfect," she returned, interrupting him ruthlessly. "I
have no such convenient plea under which to shelter myself. Miss
Mewlstone suffers far more from headaches than I do. Don't you, Miss
Mewlstone?"

"Just so; yes, indeed, my dear," proceeded softly from the other end
of the room.

"I am sorry to hear it," commenced Mr. Drummond, in a sympathizing
tone of voice. But his tormentor again interrupted him.

"I am a sad backslider, am I not? I wonder if you have a sermon ready
for me? Do you lecture your parishioners, Mr. Drummond, rich as well
as poor? What a pity it is you are so young! Lectures are more
suitable with gray hair; a hoary head might have some chance against
my satire. A woman's tongue is a difficult thing to keep in order, is
it not? I dare say you find that with Miss Mattie?"

Mr. Drummond was literally on thorns. He had no repartee ready. She
was secretly exasperating him as usual, making his youth a reproach,
and rendering it impossible for him to be his natural frank self with
her. In her presence he was always at a disadvantage. She seemed to
take stock of his learning and to mock at the idea of his pastoral
claims. It was not the first time she had called herself a black
sheep, or had spoken of her scanty attendances at church. But as yet
he had not dared to rebuke her; he had a feeling that she might fling
back his rebuke with a jest, and his dignity forbade this. Some day he
owed it to his conscience to speak a word to her,--to tell her of the
evil effects of such an example; but the convenient season had not yet
arrived.

He was casting about in his own mind for some weighty sentence with
which to answer her; but she again broke in upon his silence:

"It seems that I am to escape to-day. I hope you are not a lax
disciplinarian; that comes of being young. Youth is more tolerant,
they say, of other people's errors: it has its own glass houses to
mind."

"You are too clever for me, Mrs. Cheyne," returned the young man, wit