Accordingly Missy reappeared in the verandah about tea-time, and in the verandah she was once more paralysed with the special terror that was hanging over her from hour to hour in these days. An unfamiliar black coat had its back to the parlour window; it was only when Missy discerned an equally unfamiliar red face at the other side of the table that she remembered that Christmas visitors had been expected in the afternoon, and reflected that these must be they. The invited guests were a brace of ministers connected with the chapel attended by the Teesdales, and the red face, which was also very fat, and roofed over with a thatch of very white hair, rose out of as black a coat as that other of which Missy had seen the back. So these were clearly the ministers. And they were already at tea.

As soon as Missy entered the parlour she recognised the person sitting with his back to the window. He had lantern jaws hung with black whiskers, and a very long but not so very cleanshaven upper lip. His name was Appleton, he was the local minister, and Missy had not only been taken to hear him preach, but she had met him personally, and made an impression, judging by the length of time the ministers hand had rested upon her shoulder on that occasion. He greeted her now in a very complimentary manner, and with many seasonable wishes, which received the echo of an echo from the elder reverend visitor, whom Mrs. Teesdale made known to Missy as their old friend Mr. Crowdy.

"Mr. Crowdy," added Mrs. T., reproachfully, "came all the way from Williamtown to preach our Christmas morning sermon. It was a beautiful sermon, if ever I heard one."

"It was that," put in David, wagging his kind old head. "But you should have told Mr. Crowdy, my dear, how Miriam feels our heat. I wouldn't let her go this morning, Mr. Crowdy, on that account. So you see it's me that's to blame."

Mr. Crowdy looked very sorry for Miriam, but very well pleased with himself and the world. Missy was shooting glances of gratitude at her indefatigable old champion. Mr. Crowdy began to eye her kindly out of his fat red face.

"So your name's Miriam? A good old-fashioned Biblical name, is Miriam," he said, in a wheezy, plethoric voice. "Singular thing, too, my name's Aaron; but I'd make an oldish brother for you, young lady, hey?"

Miriam laughed without understanding, and showed this. So Mr. Teesdale explained.

"Miriam, my dear, was the sister of Moses and Aaron, you remember."

Missy did remember.

"Moses and Aaron? Why, of course!" cried she. "'Says Moses to Aaron! '"

The quotation was not meant to go any further; but the white-haired minister asked blandly, "Well, what did he say?" So bland, indeed, was the question that Missy hummed forth after a very trifling hesitation—


"Says Moses to Aaron,

While talking of these times'—

Says Aaron to Moses,

'I vote we make some rhymes!


The ways of this wicked world,

'Tis not a bed of roses—

No better than it ought to be—'

'Right you are!' says Moses."


There was a short but perfect silence, during which Mrs. Teesdale glared at Missy and her husband looked pained. Then the old minister simply remarked that he saw no fun in profanity, and John William (who was visibly out of his element) felt frightfully inclined to punch Mr. Crowdy's white head for him. But the Reverend Mr. Appleton took a lighter view of the matter.

"With all due deference to our dear old friend," said this gentleman, with characteristic unction, "I must say that I am of opinion 'e is labouring under a slight misconception. Miss Miriam, I feel sure, was not alluding to any Biblical characters at all, but to two typical types of the latter-day Levite. Miss Miriam nods! I knew that I was right!"

"Then I was wrong," said Mr. Crowdy, cheerfully, as he nodded to Missy, who had not seriously aggrieved him; "and all's well that ends well."

"Hear, hear!" chimed in David, thankfully. "Mrs. T., Mr. Appleton's cup's off. And Mr. Crowdy hasn't got any jam. Or will you try our Christmas cake now, Mr. Crowdy? My dears, my dears, you're treating our guests very shabbily!"

"Some of them puts people about so—some that ought to know better," muttered Mrs. Tees-dale under her breath; but after that the tea closed over Missy's latest misdemeanour—if indeed it was one for Missy—and a slightly sticky meal went as smoothly as could be expected to its end.

Then Mr. Appleton said grace, and Mr. Crowdy, pushing back his plate and his chair, exclaimed in an oracular wheeze, "The Hundred!"

"The Old 'Undredth," explained the other, getting on his feet and producing a tuning-fork. He was the musical minister, Mr. Appleton. Nevertheless, he led them off too high or too low, and started them afresh three times, before they were all standing round that tea-table and singing in unison at the rate of about two lines per minute—


"All—peo—ple—that—on—earth-do—dwell—

Sing—to—the—Lord—with—cheer-fill-voice-

Him—serve—with—fear—His—praise-forth-tell-

Come—ye—be—fore—Him—and—-re-joice."


And so through the five verses, which between them occupied the better part of ten minutes; whereafter Mr. Crowdy knelt them all down with their elbows among the tea-things, and offered up a prayer.

Now it is noteworthy that the black sheep of this mob, that had no business to be in this mob at all, displayed no sort of inclination to smile at these grave proceedings. They took Missy completely by surprise; but they failed to tickle her sense of humour, because there was too much upon the conscience which had recently been born again to Missy's soul. On the contrary, the hymn touched her heart and the prayer made it bleed; for that heart was become like a foul thing cleaned in the pure atmosphere of this peaceful homestead. The prayer was very long and did not justify its length. It comprised no point, no sentence, which in itself could have stung a sinner to the quick. But through her fingers Missy could see the bald pate, the drooping eyelids, and the reverent, submissive expression of old Mr. Teesdale. And they drew the blood. The girl rose from her knees with one thing tight in her mind. This was the fixed determination to undeceive that trustful nature without further delay than was necessary, and in the first fashion which offered.

A sort of chance came almost immediately; it was not the best sort, but Missy had grown so desperate that now she was all for running up her true piratical colours and then sheering off before a gun could be brought to bear upon her. So she seized the opportunity which occurred in the best parlour, to which the party adjourned after tea. The best parlour was very seldom used. It had the fusty smell of all best parlours, which never are for common use, and was otherwise too much of a museum of albums, antimacassars, ornaments and footstools, to be a very human habitation at its best. Though all that met the eye looked clean, there was a strong pervading sense of the dust of decades; but some of this was about to be raised.

In the passage Mr. Appleton had taken Missy most affectionately by the arm, and had whispered of Mr. Crowdy, who was ahead, "A grand old man, and ripe for 'eaven!" But as they entered the best parlour he was complimenting Missy upon her voice, which had quite altered the sound of the late hymn from the moment when John William fetched and handed to her an open hymn-book. And here Mr. Crowdy, seating himself in the least uncomfortable of the antimacassared chairs, had his say also.

"I like your voice too," the florid old minister observed, cocking a fat eye at Miriam. "But it is only natural that any young lady of your name should be musical. Surely you remember? 'And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances—' and so forth. Exodus fifteenth. I suppose you can't play upon the timbrel, hey, Miss Miriam?"

"No," said Missy; "but I can dance."

"Hum! And sing? What I mean is, young lady, do you only sing hymns?"

Missy kept her countenance.

"I have sung songs as well," she ventured to assert.

"Then give us one now, Missy," cried old Tees-dale. "That's what Mr. Crowdy wants, and so do we all."

"Something lively?" suggested Missy, looking doubtfully at the red-faced minister.

"Lively? To be sure," replied Mr. Crowdy. "Christmas Day, young lady, is not like a Sunday unless it happens to fall on one, which I'm glad it hasn't this year. Make it as lively as convenient. I like to be livened up!" And the old man rubbed his podgy hands and leant forward in the least uncomfortable chair.

"And shall I give you a dance too?"

"A dance, by all means, if you dance alone. I understand that such dancing has become quite the rage in the drawing-rooms at home. And a very good thing too, if it puts a stop to that dancing two together, which is an abomination in the sight of the Lord. But a dance by yourself—by all manner of means!" cried Mr. Cr............