elf-conscious, as they gazed obliquely at the
interrupter.

"'Ullo, caught you," said Bindle jocosely.

"Bindle!" There was horror and anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice. Mr.
MacFie merely looked uncomfortable. He rose hastily.

"I must be gaeing, Mrs. Beendle," he said; then turning to Bindle
remarked, "I joost cam to enquire if Mrs. Beendle was coming to chapel
the nicht."

"Don't you fret about that, sir," said Bindle genially. "She wouldn't
miss a chance to pray."

"And--and may we expect you, Mr. Beendle?" enquired Mr. MacFie by way
of making conversation and preventing an embarrassing silence.

"I ain't much on religion, sir," replied Bindle hastily. "Mrs. B.'s
the one for that. Lemonade and religion are things, sir, wot I can be
trusted with. I don't touch neither." Then, as Mr. MacFie moved
towards the door, he added, "Must you go, sir? You won't stay an' 'ave
a bit o' supper?"

"Na, na!" replied Mr. MacFie hastily, "I hae the Lord's work to do,
Mr. Beendle, the Lord's work to do," he repeated as he shook hands
with Mrs. Bindle and then with Bindle. "The Lord's work to do," he
repeated for a third time as, followed by Mrs. Bindle, he left the
room.

"Funny thing that the Lord's work should make 'im look like that,"
remarked Bindle meditatively, as he drew a tin of salmon from his
pocket.

When Mrs. Bindle returned to the kitchen it was obvious that she was
seriously displeased. The bangs that punctuated the process of
"dishing-up" were good fortissimo bangs.

Bindle continued to read his paper imperturbably. In his nostrils was
the scent of a favourite stew. He lifted his head like a hound,
appreciatively sniffing the air, a look of contentment overspreading
his features.

Having poured out the contents of the saucepan, Mrs. Bindle went to
the sink and filled the vessel with water. Carrying it across the
kitchen, she banged it down on the stove. Opening the front, and
picking up the poker, she gave the fire several unnecessary jabs.

"Wot did Sandy want?" enquired Bindle as he got to work upon his
supper.

"Don't talk to me," snapped Mrs. Bindle. "You'd try a saint, you
would, insulting the minister in that way."

"Insultin'! Me!" cried Bindle in surprise. "Why, I only cheer-o'd
'im."

"You'll never learn 'ow to behave," stormed Mrs. Bindle, losing her
temper and her aitches. "Look at you now, all dressed up and leaving
me alone."

Bindle was wearing his best clothes, for some reason known only