ng on the Bible, were sundry
large worsted hose, which always seemed to Mr. Fenwick as though
they must have undarned themselves as quickly as they were darned.
Her Bible and her stockings furnished the whole of Mrs. Brattle's
occupation from her dinner to her bed. In the morning, she would
still occupy herself in matters of cookery, would peel potatoes, and
prepare apples for puddings, and would look into the pot in which
the cabbage was being boiled. But her stockings and her Bible shared
together the afternoons of her week-days. On the Sundays there would
only be the Bible, and then she would pass many hours of the day
asleep. On every other Sunday morning she still walked to church and
back,--going there always alone. There was no one now to accompany
her. Her husband never went,--never had gone,--to church, and her son
now had broken away from his good practices. On alternate mornings
Fanny went, and also on every Sunday afternoon. Wet or dry, storm
or sunshine, she always went; and her father, who was an old Pagan,
loved her for her zeal. Mrs. Brattle was a slight-made old woman,
with hair almost white peering out modestly from under her clean cap,
dressed always in a brown stuff gown that never came down below her
ankle. Her features were still pretty, small, and debonnaire, and
there was a sweetness in her eyes that no observer could overlook.
She was a modest, pure, high-minded woman,--whom we will not call
a lady, because of her position in life, and because she darned
stockings in a kitchen. In all other respects she deserved the name.

"I heard your voice outside with the master," she said, rising from
her chair to answer the parson's salutation, and putting down her
stockings first, and then her spectacles upon the book, so that the
Bible was completely hidden; "and I knew you would not go without
saying a word to the old woman."

"I believe I came mostly to see you to-day, Mrs. Brattle."

"Did you then? It's kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Fenwick, this hot
weather,--and you with so many folk to mind too. Will you take an
apple, Mr. Fenwick? I don't know that we've anything else to offer,
but the quarantines are rare this year, they say;--though, no doubt,
you have them better at the Vicarage?"

Fenwick took a large, red apple from the dresser, and began to munch,
it, declaring that they had none such in their orchard. And then,
when the apple was finished, he had to begin his story.

"Mrs. Brattle, I'm s