clasped and her eyes fixed. It was as though some last day had come upon her,—this, the first Sunday of her husband's degradation. "Mary," he said to her, "why do you not eat?"
"I cannot," she replied, speaking not in a whisper, but in words which would hardly get themselves articulated. "I cannot. Do not ask me."
"For the honour of the Lord you will want the strength which bread alone can give you," he said, intimating to her that he wished her to attend the service.
"Do not ask me to be there, Josiah. I cannot. It is too much for me."
"Nay; I will not press it," he said. "I can go alone." He uttered no word expressive of a wish that his daughter should attend the church; but when the moment came, Jane accompanied him. "What shall I do, mamma," she said, "if I find I cannot bear it?" "Try to bear it," the mother said. "Try, for his sake. You are stronger now than I am."
The tinkle of the church bell was heard at the usual time, and Mr. Crawley, hat in hand, stood ready to go forth. He had heard nothing of Mr. Thumble, but had made up his mind that Mr. Thumble would not trouble him. He had taken the precaution to request his churchwarden to be early at the church, so that Mr. Thumble might encounter no difficulty. The church was very near to the house, and any vehicle arriving might have been seen had Mr. Crawley watched closely. But no one had cared to watch Mr. Thumble's arrival at the church. He did not doubt that Mr. Thumble would be at the church. With reference to the school, he had had some doubt.
But just as he was about to start he heard the clatter of a gig. Up came Mr. Thumble to the door of the parsonage, and having come down from his gig was about to enter the house as though it were his own. Mr. Crawley greeted him in the pathway, raising his hat from his head, and expressing a wish that Mr. Thumble might not feel himself fatigued with his drive. "I will not ask you into my poor house," he said, standing in the middle of the pathway; "for that my wife is ill."
"Nothing catching, I hope?" said Mr. Thumble.
"Her malady is of the spirit rather than of the flesh," said Mr. Crawley. "Shall we go on to the church?"
"Certainly,—by all means. How about the surplice?"
"You will find, I trust, that the churchwarden has everything in
