of discussing matters which he
himself thought most private.

"Mr. Jackson was asking if you'd like a short prayer offered up next
Sunday, James," said his mother.

"I shouldn't at all."

"Why not?" asked the Vicar, "I think it's your duty to thank your Maker
for your safe return, and I think your parents should join in the
thanksgiving."

"We're probably none of us less grateful," said James, "because we
don't want to express our feelings before the united congregation."

Jamie's parents looked at him with relief, for the same thought filled
their minds; but thinking it their duty to submit themselves to the
spiritual direction of the Vicar and his wife, they had not thought it
quite right to decline the proposal. Mrs. Jackson glanced at her husband
with pained astonishment, but further argument was prevented by the
arrival of Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn, and Mary.

Colonel Clibborn was a tall man, with oily black hair and fierce
eyebrows, both dyed; aggressively military and reminiscent He had been
in a cavalry regiment, where he had come to the philosophic conclusion
that all men are dust--except cavalry-men; and he was able to look upon
Jamie's prowess--the prowess of an infantryman--from superior heights.
He was a great authority upon war, and could tell anyone what were the
mistakes in South Africa, and how they might have been avoided; likewise
he had known in the service half the peers of the realm, and talked of
them by their Christian names. He spent three weeks every season in
London, and dined late, at seven o'clock, so he had every qualification
for considering himself a man of fashion.

"I don't know what they'd do in Little Primpton without us," he said.
"It's only us who keep it alive."

But Mrs. Clibborn missed society.

"The only people I can speak to are the Parsons," she told her husband,
plaintively. "They're very good people--but only infantry, Reggie."

"Of course, they're only infantry," agreed Colonel Clibborn.

Mrs. Clibborn was a regimental beauty--of fifty, who had grown stout;
but not for that ceased to use the weapons which Nature had given her
against the natural enemies of the sex. In her dealings with several
generations of adorers, she had acquired such a habit of languishing
glances that now she used them unconsciously. Whether ordering meat from
the butcher or discussing parochial matters with Mr. Jackson, Mrs.
Clibborn's tone and manner were such that she might have been s