ster listened to them politely. He was the gentlest of
little men and had a club-foot. Mrs Polsue and Miss Oliver
(who detested one another) agreed that it would be a day of grace
when his term among them expired and he was "planned" for some other
place where Christianity did not matter as it did in Polpier.
They gave various reasons for this: but their real reason (had they
lived in a Palace of Truth) was that the Rev. Mark Hambly never spoke
evil of any one, nor listened to gossip save with a loose attention.

"The man has a wandering mind!" declared Miss Oliver. "It don't seem
able to fix itself. If you'll believe me, when I told him about
Bestwetherick's daughter and how she'd got herself into trouble at
last, all he could say was, 'Yes, yes, poor thing!'--and invite me to
kneel down an' pray she might come safely through it!"

"You surely weren't so weak as to do it?" said Mrs Polsue,
scandalised.

"Me?" exclaimed Cherry. "Pray for that baggage? To start with, I'd
be afeard the Lord'd visit it on me. . . . An' then it came out he'd
Known the whole affair for more than two months. The girl had been
to him."

"And he never told? . . . I tell you what, Cherry Oliver! It's my
belief that man would set up a confessional, if he could."

"Don't 'ee tell up such things, Mary-Martha Polsue, or I'll go an'
drown myself!"

"And why not?--he bein' so thick with Parson Steele, that sticks up
'High Mass' 'pon his church door and is well known to be
hand-in-glove with the Pope. I tell you I saw the pair meet this
very Wednesday down by the bridge as I happened to be lookin' out
waitin' to scold the milk-boy: and they shook hands and stood for
up-three-minutes colloguin' together."

When these two ladies joined forces to attack Mr Hambly on the
subject of Nicky-Nan's atheism, presumed upon his neglect to attend
public worship, the Minister's lack of interest became fairly
exasperating. He arose and opened the window.

"Astonishing plague of house-flies we are suffering from this year,"
he observed. "You have noticed it, doubtless? . .. Yes, yes--about
Nanjivell . . . it is so good of you to feel concerned. I will talk
it over with the Vicar."

"God forbid!" Mrs Polsue ejaculated.

"One uses up fly-papers almost faster than Mrs Pengelly can supply
them," continued the Minister. "And, moreover, she will sell me but
two or three at a time, alleging that she requires all her stock for
her own shop. I fell