some sort, and carried a tin pot of red paint in his hand. He asked in a business-like manner if he should take her basket, which she permitted him to do, walking beside him.
‘It is early to be astir this Sabbath morn,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Yes,’ said Tess.
‘When most people are at rest from their week’s work.’
She also assented to this.
‘Though I do more real work to-day than all the week besides.’
‘Do you?’
‘All the week I work for the glory of man, and on Sunday for the glory of God. That’s more real than the other—hey? I have a little to do here at this stile.’ The man turned as he spoke to an opening at the roadside leading into a pasture. ‘If you’ll wait a moment’, he added, ‘I shall not be long.’
As he had her basket she could not well do otherwise; and she waited, observing him. He set down her basket and the tin pot, and stirring the paint with the brush that was in it began painting large square letters on the middle board of the
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