. . .There's no remembering all the curates there. My aunt likes his mother. Does he belong to this St. Andrew's Church?"

"No, to the old one. You begin to see the tower."

"Is that where you go?"

"To the old one in the morning, but we have a dear little old chapel at Clipstone, where Mr. Brownlow comes for the afternoon. It is all a good deal mixed up together."

Then another voice—

"Do you think Mr. Underwood would preach to us? Mr. Brownlow says he never heard any one like him."

Anna stood still.

"Nobody is to dare to mention preaching to Uncle Clement for the next six months, or they will deserve never to hear another sermon in their lives."

"What an awful penalty!"

"For shame, Dolores! Now," as the short remainder of a steep street was surmounted, "here, as you may see, is the great hotel, and next beyond is Aunt Jane's, Beechcroft. On beyond, where you see that quee. . . Read More