for what may be in store.

The blessing brought the sense of peace, which hung on her even while
the sounds of movement began, and the congregation were emerging. As
she came out, greetings, sentences of admiration of the church, and of
inquiry for her absent sisters, were crowded upon her, as people moved
towards the school, where a luncheon was provided for them, to pass away
the interval until evening service. The half-dozen oldest Cocksmoorites
were, meantime, to have a dinner in the former schoolroom, at the
Elwoods' house, and Ethel was anxious so see that all was right there;
so, while the rest of her party were doing civil things, she gave her
arm to Cherry, whose limping walk showed her to be very tired.

"Oh, Miss Ethel!" said Cherry, "if Miss May could only have been here!"

"Her heart is," said Ethel.

"Well, ma'am, I believe it is. You would not think, ma'am, how all the
children take heed to anything about her. If I only begin to say 'Miss
May told me--' they are all like mice."

"She has done more for the real good of Cocksmoor than any one else,"
said Ethel.

More might have been said, but they perceived that they were being
overtaken by the body of clergy, who had been unrobing in the vestry.
Ethel hastened to retreat within Mrs. Elwood's wicket gate, but she was
arrested by Richard, and found herself being presented to the bishop,
and the bishop shaking hands with her, and saying that he had much
wished to be introduced to her.

Of course, that was because she was her father's daughter, and by way
of something to say. She mentioned what was going on at the cottage,
whereupon the bishop wished to go in and see the old people; and,
entering, they found the very comfortable-looking party just sitting
down to roast-beef and goose. John Taylor, in a new black coat, on
account of his clerkship, presiding at one end, and Mr. Elwood at the
other, and Dame Hall finding conversation for the whole assembly; while
Blanche, Aubrey, Gertrude, the little Larkinses, and the Abbotstoke
Wilmots were ready to act as waiters with infinite delight. Not a bit
daunted by the bishop, who was much entertained by her merry manner, old
granny told him "she had never seen nothing like it since the Jubilee,
when the squire roasted an ox whole, and there wasn't none of it fit to
eat; and when her poor father got his head broken. Well, to be sure,
who would have thought what would come of Sam's bringing in the young
gentlema