lk of die great churches he built out
there! . . .

MANSON. Churches?

MARY. Yes; didn't he?

MANSON. He built one.

MARY. What's it like?

MANSON. Those who have seen it say there is nothing like it on
earth.

MARY [eagerly]. Have you seen it?

MANSON. I was there when he built it.

MARY. From the very beginning?

MANSON [solemnly]. From the beginning.

[MARY pauses before speaking: then she says, slowly.]

MARY. I hope I _shall_ like him. Is he--is he anything like you?

[MANSON regards her silently for a moment.]

MANSON. How is it that you know so little about him?

MARY. Well, you see, I only heard yesterday.

MANSON. I thought you said his name was on everybody's _lips_.

MARY. You don't understand. I mean, I never knew that he had
anything to do with _me_--that he was my father's brother.

MANSON. Didn't _he_ know?

MARY. Who--father? Oh, you see, I. . . _I don't know my father_
. . . . . . Uncle William didn't know anything about it until
yesterday.

MANSON. Hm! That is strange, too!

MARY. There's a bit of a mystery about it altogether. Would you
like to hear? It is rather like a fairy-tale.

MANSON. It must be. Yes, do go on.

MARY. It was all through Uncle William's Restoration Fund. You
see, our old church is in a perfectly rotten state of decay, and
naturally it would take a lot to repair it: so uncle thought of
starting a Fund--Yes! Wasn't it clever of him?--I addressed all
the envelopes.

Would you believe it, we couldn't get a single halfpenny! Isn't it
a shame?--Such a nice old church, too!

MANSON. How was that?

MARY. That's the question! People have been most rude! Oh, the
letters we have had! The funny thing is, for all their
fault-finding, they none of them agree with each other!--Some say
the foundations are all wrong: some don't like the stained-glass
windows; but if you ask me . . .

MANSON. Yes, what do you think?

MARY. Well, uncle won't hear of it; but I can't help thinking old
Bletchley is right . . .

MANSON. Who's he?

MARY. Oh, he's a dreadfully wicked man, I know that-- He's the
quack doctor in the village: he's--he's _an atheist_! . . .

MANSON. Well, what does he think is the matter?

MARY. He says it's the DRAIN!

MANSON. The--the drain? . . .

MARY. Um! You know, in spite of what uncle says, there is a
smell: I had it in my nose all last Sunday morning. Up in the
choir it's bad enough, and r