Something delayed the arrival of the Wesleyan minister, and a youngman came temporarily in his stead. It was on the thirteenth ofJanuary 183- that Mr. Stockdale, the young man in question, made hishumble entry into the village, unknown, and almost unseen. But whenthose of the inhabitants who styled themselves of his connectionbecame acquainted with him, they were rather pleased with thesubstitute than otherwise, though he had scarcely as yet acquiredballast of character sufficient to steady the consciences of thehundred-and-forty Methodists of pure blood who, at this time, livedin Nether-Moynton, and to give in addition supplementary support tothe mixed race which went to church in the morning and chapel in theevening, or when there was a tea--as many as a hundred-and-tenpeople more, all told, and including the parish-clerk in the winter-time, when it was too dark for the vicar to observe who passed upthe street at seven o'clock--which, to be just to him, he was neveranxious to do.

　　It was owing to this overlapping of creeds that the celebratedpopulation-puzzle arose among the denser gentry of the districtaround Nether-Moynton: how could it be that a parish containingfifteen score of strong full-grown Episcopalians, and nearlythirteen score of well-matured Dissenters, numbered barely two-and-twenty score adults in all?

　　The young man being personally interesting, those with whom he camein contact were content to waive for a while the graver question ofhis sufficiency. It is said that at this time of his life his eyeswere affectionate, though without a ray of levity; that his hair wascurly, and his figure tall; that he was, in short, a very lovableyouth, who won upon his female hearers as soon as they saw and heardhim, and caused them to say, 'Why didn't we know of this before hecame, that we might have gied him a warmer welcome!'

　　The fact was that, knowing him to be only provisionally selected,and expecting nothing remarkable in his person or doctrine, they andthe rest of his flock in Nether-Moynton had felt almost asindifferent about his advent as if they had been the soundestchurch-going parishioners in the country, and he their true andappointed parson. Thus when Stockdale set foot in the place nobodyhad secured a lodging for him, and though his journey had given hima bad cold in the head, he was forced to attend to that businesshimself. On inquiry he learnt that the only possible accommodationin the village would be found at the house of one Mrs. LizzyNewberry, at the upper end of the street.

　　It was a youth who gave this information, and Stockdale asked himwho Mrs. Newberry might be.

　　The boy said that she was a widow-woman, who had got no husband,because he was dead. Mr. Newberry, he added, had been a well-to-doman enough, as the saying was, and a farmer; but he had gone off ina decline. As regarded Mrs. Newberry's serious side, Stockdalegathered that she was one of the trimmers who went to church andchapel both.

　　'I'll go there,' said Stockdale, feeling that, in the absence ofpurely sectarian lodgings, he could do no better.

　　'She's a little particular, and won't hae gover'ment folks, orcurates, or the pa'son's friends, or such like,' said the laddubiously.

　　'Ah, that may be a promising sign: I'll call. Or no; just you goup and ask first if she can find room for me. I have to see one ortwo persons on another matter. You will find me down at thecarrier's.'

　　In a quarter of an hour the lad came back, and said that Mrs.

　　Newberry would have no objection to accommodate him, whereuponStockdale called at the house.

　　It stood within a garden-hedge, and seemed to be roomy andcomfortable. He saw an elderly woman, with whom he madearrangements to come the same night, since there was no inn in theplace, and he wished to house himself as soon as possible; thevillage being a local centre from which he was to radiate at once tothe different small chapels in the neighbourhood. He forthwith senthis luggage to Mrs. Newberry's from the carrier's, where he hadtaken shelter, and in the evening walked up to his temporary home.

　　As he now lived there, Stockdale felt it unnecessary to knock at thedoor; and entering quietly he had the pleasure of hearing footstepsscudding away like mice into the back quarters. He advanced to theparlour, as the front room was called, though its stone floor wasscarcely disguised by the carpet, which only over-laid the troddenareas, leaving sandy deserts under the bulging mouldings of thetable-legs, playing with brass furniture. But the room looked snugand cheerful. The firelight shone out brightly, trembling on theknobs and handles, and lurking in great strength on the undersurface of the chimney-piece. A deep arm-chair, covered withhorsehair, and studded with a countless throng of brass nails, waspulled up on one side of the fireplace. The tea-things were on thetable, the teapot cover was open, and a little hand-bell had beenlaid at that precise point towards which a person seated in thegreat chair might be expected instinctively to stretch his hand.

　　Stockdale sat down, not objecting to his experience of the room thusfar, and began his residence by tinkling the bell. A little girlcrept in at the summons, and made tea for him. Her name, she said,was Marther Sarer, and she lived out there, nodding towards the roadand village generally. Before Stockdale had got far with his meal,a tap sounded on the door behind him, and on his telling theinquirer to come in, a rustle of garments caused him to turn hishead. He saw before him a fine and extremely well-made young woman,with dark hair, a wide, sensible, beautiful forehead, eyes thatwarmed him before he knew it, and a mouth that was in itself apicture to all appreciative souls.

　　'Can I get you anything else for tea?' she said, coming forward astep or two, an expression of liveliness on her features, and herhand waving the door by its edge.

　　'Nothing, thank you,' said Stockdale, thinking less of what hereplied than of what might be her relation to the household.

　　'You are quite sure?' said the young woman, apparently aware that hehad not considered his answer.

　　He conscientiously examined the tea-things, and found them allthere. 'Quite sure, Miss Newberry,' he said.

　　'It is Mrs. Newberry,' she said. 'Lizzy Newberry, I used to beLizzy Simpkins.'

　　'O, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Newberry.' And before he had occasionto say more she left the room.

　　Stockdale remained in some doubt till Martha Sarah came to clear thetable. 'Whose house is this, my little woman,' said he.

　　'Mrs. Lizzy Newberry's, sir.'

　　'Then Mrs. Newberry is not the old lady I saw this afternoon?'

　　'No. That's Mrs. Newberry's mother. It was Mrs. Newberry who comedin to you just by now, because she wanted to see if you was good-looking.'

　　Later in the evening, when Stockdale was about to begin supper, shecame again. 'I have come myself, Mr. Stockdale,' she said. Theminister stood up in acknowledgment of the honour. 'I am afraidlittle Marther might not make you understand. What will you havefor supper?--there's cold rabbit, and there's a ham uncut.'

　　Stockdale said he could get on nicely with those viands, and supperwas laid. He had no more than cut a slice when tap-tap came to thedoor again. The minister had already learnt that this particularrhythm in taps denoted the fingers of his enkindling landlady, andthe doomed young fellow buried his first mouthful under a look ofreceptive blandness.

　　'We have a chicken in the house, Mr. Stockdale--I quite forgot tomention it just now. Perhaps you would like Marther Sarer to bringit up?'

　　Stockdale had advanced far enough in the art of being a young man tosay that he did not want the chicken, unless she brought it upherself; but when it was uttered he blushed at the daring gallantryof the speech, perhaps a shade too strong for a serious man and aminister. In three minutes the chicken appeared, but, to his greatsurprise, only in the hands of Martha Sarah. Stockdale wasdisappointed, which perhaps it was intended that he should be.

　　He had finished supper, and was not in the least anticipating Mrs.

　　Newberry again that night, when she tapped and entered as before.

　　Stockdale's gratified look told that she had lost nothing by notappearing when expected. It happened that the cold in the head fromwhich the young man suffered had increased with the approach ofnight, and before she had spoken he was seized with a violent fit ofsneezing which he could not anyhow repress.

　　Mrs. Newberry looked full of pity. 'Your cold is very bad to-night,Mr. Stockdale.'

　　Stockdale replied that it was rather troublesome.

　　'And I've a good mind'--she added archly, looking at the cheerlessglass of water on the table, which the abstemious minister was goingto drink.

　　'Yes, Mrs. Newberry?'

　　'I've a good mind that you should have something more likely to cureit than that cold stuff.'

　　'Well,' said Stockdale, looking down at the glass, 'as there is noinn here, and nothing better to be got in the village, of course itwill do.'

　　To this she replied, 'There is something better, not far off, thoughnot in the house. I really think you must try it, or you may beill. Yes, Mr. Stockdale, you shall.' She held up her finger,seeing that he was about to speak. 'Don't ask what it is; wait, andyou shall see.'

　　Lizzy went away, and Stockdale waited in a pleasant mood. Presentlyshe returned with her bonnet and cloak on, saying, 'I am so sorry,but you must help me to get it. Mother has gone to bed. Will youwrap yourself up, and come this way, and please bring that cup withyou?'

　　Stockdale, a lonely young fellow, who had for weeks felt a greatcraving for somebody on whom to throw away superfluous interest, andeven tenderness, was not sorry to join her; and followed his guidethrough the back door, across the garden, to the bottom, where theboundary was a wall. This wall was low, and beyond it Stockdalediscerned in the night shades several grey headstones, and theoutlines of the church roof and tower.

　　'It is easy to get up this way,' she said, stepping upon a bankwhich abutted on the wall; then putting her foot on the top of thestonework, and descending a spring inside, where the ground was muchhigher, as is the manner of graveyards to be. Stockdale did thesame, and followed her in the dusk across the irregular ground tillthey came to the tower door, which, when they had entered, shesoftly closed behind them.

　　'You can keep a secret?' she said, in a musical voice.

　　'Like an iron chest!' said he fervently.

　　Then from under her cloak she produced a small lighted lantern,which the minister had not noticed that she carried at all. Thelight showed them to be close to the singing-gallery stairs, underwhich lay a heap of lumber of all sorts, but consisting mostly ofdecayed framework, pews, panels, and pieces of flooring, that fromtime to time had been removed from their original fixings in thebody of the edifice and replaced by new.

　　'Perhaps you will drag some of those boards aside?' she said,holding the lantern over her head to light him better. 'Or will youtake the lantern while I move them?'

　　'I can manage it,' said the young man, and acting as she ordered, heuncovered, to his surprise, a row of little barrels bound with woodhoops, each barrel being about as large as the nave of a heavywaggon-wheel.

　　When they were laid open Lizzy fixed her eyes on him, as if shewondered what he would say.

　　'You know what they are?' she asked, finding that he did not speak.

　　'Yes, barrels,' said Stockdale simply. He was an inland man, theson of highly respectable parents, and brought up with a single eyeto the ministry; and the sight suggested nothing beyond the factthat such articles were there.

　　'You are quite right, they are barrels,' she said, in an emphatictone of candour that was not without a touch of irony.

　　Stockdale looked at her with an eye of sudden misgiving. 'Notsmugglers' liquor?' he said.

　　'Yes,' said she. 'They are tubs of spirit that have accidentallycome over in the dark from France.'

　　In Nether-Moynton and its vicinity at this date people always smiledat the sort of sin called in the outside world illicit trading; andthese little kegs of gin and brandy were as well known to theinhabitants as turnips. So that Stockdale's innocent ignorance, andhis look of alarm when he guessed the sinister mystery, seemed tostrike Lizzy first as ludicrous, and then as very awkward for thegood impression that she wished to produce upon him.

　　'Smuggling is carried on here by............