“The chaise was stayed,

    But yet was not allowed

    To drive up to the door, lest all

    Should say that she was proud.”

    Cowper.

Dr Fogram was true to his word, and made his appearance at the Long Vacation. The Carbonels, to whom little eager Sophia had been added a day or two previously, first saw him at Downhill Church, where he made a most dignified appearance, in a very full surplice, with his Doctor of Divinity’s red hood over it. The clerk, small, grey-haired, and consequential, bustled up to open the pulpit door for him, and he preached, in a fine, sonorous voice, a very learned sermon, that might have been meant for his undergraduates at Oxford.

It was the day for afternoon service at Uphill, so the sisters had to hurry away to eat their luncheon in haste, and then to introduce Sophy to the Sunday School, where she was to teach a class of small ones, a matter of amazing importance and ecstasy.

She was a damsel of thirteen, in a white frock and cape, a pink sash, pink kerchief round her neck, pink satin ribbons tying down her broad Leghorn hat over her ears, in what was called gipsy fashion. She had rosy cheeks, blue, good-natured eyes, and shining, light-brown curls all round her head. Her appearance in the school was quite as memorable to the children as Dr Fogram’s could be to their elders, and the little ones were so engaged in looking at her that they quite forgot to be naughty, except that Billy Mole, in curiosity to know what anything so glossy and shining could be, pinched the end of her sash, and left the grimy mark of his little hot hands on it, which caused Maitland the maid, who had charge of her toilette, to declare that such things always came of going among “they nasty, dirty little brats.”

Dr Fogram rode over on a plump, shining, black horse, followed by a well-equipped groom. He dismounted, and gave his horse to the man when he overtook the Carbonel party on the way up the hill.

“Captain Carbonel, I believe,” said he, touching his hat, almost a shovel. “Will you do me the honour to introduce me to the ladies,” and to them he uncovered with the grand formal politeness which even then was becoming rather old-fashioned and which they returned with curtsies, Sophia’s, being fresh from the dancing-master, the most perfect of all.

“I understand,” said he, “that I am greatly indebted to you for pains taken with this unfortunate parish.”

“We have been trying to do what we could,” said Mrs Carbonel, to whom this was chiefly addressed.

“It is a great kindness,” he replied, “and I hope the people may show themselves sensible of your exertions, but hitherto all endeavours for their benefit have been thrown away.”

Dora could not help wondering what the exertions were!

After the service he joined the family again, and said that he thought the appearance of the poor—and especially of the children—and their behaviour much improved, and he had no doubt it was owing to the gentle and beneficent influence of the ladies, to whom he bowed.

In fact, the children had been much engaged in staring, though whether he or Sophy were the prime attraction, might be doubtful. At any rate, Master Pucklechurch’s rod had only once descended. Moreover, two neat sun-bonnets of lilac print adorned two heads, and the frocks looked as if they were sometimes washed.

Captain Carbonel said he hoped to have some conversation with the President about the parish; and he responded that he hoped to do himself the honour of calling the next day. After which he mounted his horse and rode off.

The three sisters waited and watched as if their whole fate depended on the morning’s conference but nothing was seen of the President till after luncheon, when he rode up, attended by his groom as before. To their great disappointment, he would talk of nothing but the beauty of the country, and of the voices of Lablache and Sonntag, or the like, which he evidently considered the proper subjects for ladies; and it was not till he had spent the quarter of an hour, fit for a visit of ceremony, on these topics that he asked Captain Carbonel to allow him a little conversation with him.

They shut themselves into the captain’s little ‘den,’ which was something between a gun-room and a library, with the rectory books going round two sides of the room, Edmund’s sword, pistols, and spurs hanging over the mantelpiece, and his guns, shot-belts, powder-horn, and fishing-rods on hooks on the wall. No noise was heard for more than an hour, during which Dora fumed, Mary cut off the dead roses, and Sophia was withheld from peeping.

At last they came out—the horses had been brought to the door—the President bowed to the ladies, mounted, and rode off, while Edmund came across the lawn; and they all clustered round him.

“Well,” said he, “we have fared better than we expected. Dr Fogram has long been regretting the state of the parish.”

“Why did he do nothing?” broke in Dora.

“I suppose he has much on his hands; and, I am afraid, my poor old uncle was a hindrance, for he really seemed like a man who had got rid of an incubus when he found that we were willing to do what we could. Then it seems that he was disappointed in Ashley Selby. He thought that, being an inhabitant of the place, the young man would be interested in the people, and make his sisters useful.”

“They!” exclaimed Dora. “They are such fine ladies, who think about nothing but Almack’s, are afraid of the dirt, and of catching all sorts of disorders at the cottages.”

“I can hardly get Dora to be moderately civil to them,” said Mary.

“Yes,” said Edmund, “parental influence has been strong. The mother fears for health, the father for his game, and the children have grown up to think poachers and their families almost beyond the pale of humanity. It has been too much for this young man, who simply acquiesced in the way in which he was bred. However, this will come to an end, for the present holder of the family living has had a paralytic stroke, and wants him to come and assist. I fully believe that he may do much better away from home habits, especially under a good incumbent.”

“And what is to happen to us?” inquired Mary.

“Dr Fogram says that he will send us one of the Fellows of his college—a young man full of zeal, who is eager for parochial work, and has been taking duty at a parish some miles from Oxford. He thinks we shall be satisfied with the change.”

“As if we were the people to be satisfied,” cried Dora. “Just confess, Edmund, that the old gentleman did not think the place worth attending to till educated gentlefolk came to live in it.”

“Say, rather, that he really did not know the deficiencies,” said the captain, “till they were brought before him.”

“Then he ought,” muttered Dora.

“Judge not,” whispered Mary, who was a reverent person.

“And the school?” resumed Dora. “Was he aware of any deficiency there?”

“He was very glad to hear that you had begun keeping school, and will contribute to a better arrangement for the week-day school, assist in pensioning off Dame Verdon, if needful, and in obtaining a better person.”

Dora and Sophy each gave a little caper, and squeezed one another’s hands.

“He is quite disposed to be liberal,” continued Edmund; “and I am sure we shall find him no impediment.”

“I don’t think the school is going on now,” said Mary. “Lizzie Verdon came for some broth, and said Granny was bad in bed. I asked whether she had had the doctor, and she stared and said no, but Dame Spurrell had got her some ‘yarbs.’”

For in those days the union doctor was not an............