gazed at her critically. "She is pale, Mrs. Hankey, there's
no doubt of that; but pale folks are often the healthiest, though they
mayn't be the handsomest. And she is wiry, is Miss Elisabeth, though she
may be thin. But is your tea to your taste, or will you take a little
more cream in it?"

"It is quite right, thank you, Mrs. Bateson; and the pork-pie is just
beautiful. What a light hand for pastry you always have! I'm sure I've
said over and over again that I don't know your equal either for making
pastry or for engaging in prayer."

Mrs. Bateson, as was natural, looked pleased. "I doubt if I ever made a
better batch of pies than this. When they were all ready for baking,
Bateson says to me, 'Kezia,' he says, 'them pies is a regular
picture--all so smooth and even-like, you can't tell which from
t'other.' 'Bateson,' said I, 'I've done my best with them; and if only
the Lord will be with them in the oven, they'll be the best batch of
pies this side Jordan.'"

"And so they are," said Elisabeth; "they are perfectly lovely."

"I'm glad you fancy them, my love; take some more, deary, it'll do you
good."

"No, thanks; I'd rather have a wig now." And Elisabeth helped herself to
one of the three-cornered cakes, called "wigs," which are peculiar to
Mershire.

"You always are fortunate in your pigs," Mrs. Hankey remarked; "such
fine hams and such beautiful roaded bacon I never see anywhere equal to
yours. It'll be a sad day for you, Mrs. Bateson, when swine fever comes
into the district. I know no one as'll feel it more."

"Now you must tell us all about your niece's wedding, Mrs. Hankey," Mrs.
Bateson said--"her that was married last week. My word alive, but your
sister is wonderful fortunate in settling her daughters! That's what I
call a well-brought-up family, and no mistake. Five daughters, and each
one found peace and a pious husband before she was five-and-twenty."

"The one before last married a Churchman," said Mrs. Hankey
apologetically, as if the union thus referred to were somewhat
morganatic in its character, and therefore no subject for pride or
congratulation.

"Well, to be sure! Still, he may make her a good husband."

"He may or he may not; you never can tell. It seems to me that husbands
are like new boots--you can't tell where they're going to pinch you till
it's too late to change 'em. And as for creaking, why, the boots that
are quietest in the shop are just the ones that fairly disgrace you wh