the moat,
or he might work in the garden on parole. She saw he was a gentleman,
and suspected him of being an interesting addition to The Quiet House.
So Tony was admitted to the drawing-room on an equality with themselves.
The mornings and afternoons he spent in forced labor, a victim of the
_corvee_; his mid-day meal and "four o'clocks" were harmoniously eaten
in the potting-shed. It was curious to observe a grimy navvy enter by
the back door, to appear in the drawing-room later dressed in a lounge
suit, with hair carefully parted. When he played or sang to them it
seemed still more incongruous, but they were all adaptable creatures and
there was no constraint.

This morning it was very hot, and Lionel and Winifred went back to the
hammock-chairs in the shade. The heat made the air flicker like waves,
and even the midges seemed too lazy to come out. A universal torpor hung
heavily in the atmosphere; one thought regretfully of slaves in offices,
clerks on stools, perspiring operators in factories. For, whether it be
hot or cold, work has to be done by all save the leisured classes. And
even they are sometimes compelled to exert themselves either by force of
circumstances or a sense of duty.

It was the latter spur that roused the Reverend Charles Peters to get to
work on his sermon for next Sunday. True, there were still three days'
grace; but it had been his immemorial custom to begin to write his
sermon on a Wednesday, and nothing short of a new heresy in the
morning's newspaper could have kept him from his desk. Whether the
garden tempted him to dally amid roses, or a keen frost suggested the
pleasures of a brisk walk--whether he felt _disponiert_ and stored with
telling phrases, or empty as a sieve with the wind blowing
through--whether his digestion was in first-class order or cried aloud
for a liver-pill,--whatever conditions obtained, duty and habit drew
Mr. Peters to a task not uncongenial. So, on this morning he went to his
work as usual, despite the heat, not slothful enough to delve in a
well-filled drawer and read over some "cold meat" for his parishioners.
He established himself in the dining-room--luckily, as it proved--for
his study was being "turned out."

As a preliminary he threw open both windows and removed his jacket and
waistcoat. Then he lighted a pipe and settled down to arrange his
thoughts. He had not been meditating for more than ten minutes when his
wife came in.

"The milkman's accoun