e-looking curate
whom she recollected as one of the rector's private pupils--Mr. Duffer.
There were twelve men and boys in white raiment, and Miss Buff,
presiding at the new organ with more than her ancient courage, executed
ambitious music that caused strangers and visitors to look up at the
loft and inquire who the organist was. Players and singers were not
always agreed, but no one could say otherwise than that, for a country
church, the performance was truly remarkable; and in the _Hampton
Chronicle_, when an account was given of special services, gratifying
mention was invariably made of Miss Buff as having presided at the organ
with her usual ability. Bessie hardly knew whether to laugh or cry as
she listened. Lady Latimer wore a countenance of ineffable patience. She
had fought the ground inch by inch with the choral party in the
congregation, and inch by inch had lost it. The responses went first,
then the psalms, and this prolonged the service so seriously that twice
she walked out of the church during the pause before sermon; but being
pastorally condoled with on the infirmities inseparable from years which
prevented her sitting through the discourse, she warmly denied the
existence of any such infirmities, and the following Sunday she stayed
to the end. For the latest innovation Beechhurst was indebted to the
young curate, who had a round full voice. He would intone the prayers.
By this time my lady was tired of clerical vanities, and only remarked,
with a little disdain in her voice, that Mr. Duffer's proper place was
Whitchester Cathedral.

When service was over Bessie whispered to her hostess the engagement she
had made for herself during the rest of the day. My lady gloomed for an
instant, and then assented, but Bessie ought to have asked her leave.
The two elder boys were waiting at the church-door as Bessie came out,
and snatched each a daintily gloved hand to conduct her home.

"Mother has gone on first to warn father," Jack announced; and missing
other friends--the Musgraves, Mittens, and Semples, to wit--she allowed
herself to be led in triumph across the road and up the garden-walk, the
garden gay as ever with late-blooming roses and as fragrant of
mignonette.

When she reached the porch she was all trembling. There was her mother,
rather flushed, with her bonnet-strings untied, and her father appearing
from the dining-parlor, where the table was spread for the family
dinner, just as of old.

"