good."

"Then come with me," said Dale.

Henceforth they two went to worship together every Sunday, and Mavis
once or twice felt a twinge of regret that she herself had not been
able to abandon the established church and join the Baptists with her
husband. But that she could not do. The chapel was too ugly, its
eastward wall too bare, its faith too painfully simple and
matter-of-fact.

She took great pains with Norah's Sunday costume, dressing her better
than before, anxious that the girl should do them credit when seen
with Dale in a public place; and Norah, all in her best, following
after her master as he made his long strides down the road, trotted
like a faithful little dog. She sat beside him in one of the front
benches, breathing hard, and following the text with her finger, while
Mr. Osborn read the Bible; and she blended her birdlike trills with
Dale's strong bass when they both stood up to sing the hymns. Dale
liked the note of her voice, took pleasure in observing her piety, and
thoroughly enjoyed expounding any difficulties in the sermon while
they walked home to dinner or to supper.

If Dale stood outside the chapel talking to elders of the flock, Norah
modestly withdrew to a little distance; or if he met people on the
road and stopped to chat, she went on ahead, waiting respectfully, and
only returning to his side when he walked on again alone. He always
kept his eye on her, and saw that she was not being accosted
unpleasantly by any undesirable acquaintance.

Once, when Dale had stopped thus to talk to Mr. Maghull, there were
two field-laborers leaning against a gate and discussing people as
they passed. Neither of them was a Baptist. One was a stupid old man,
and his would-be-funny chatter, at which the other kept guffawing,
bothered Dale in his serious conversation with Mr. Maghull.

"Be that little Norrer Veale?"

"I dunno."

"I do think that's little Norrer Veale, but I ben't sure."

"Yes, it is," said Dale, turning and speaking sharply. "What about
her?"

"Lord, how she's coming on," said the old man. "She's an advertisement
to your larder, sir;" and he stared at the girl. "Fillin' out into all
a piece o' goods, ben't un?" Then he laughed, in peasant style. "Give
her another year or two and she'll be a blink to set some un o' fire
pretty quick, if she gets hedge-row walkin'."

Dale felt annoyed by this rustic criticism, but he knew that there was
substantial truth in it. Norah was deve