“I am sorry, Mr Walton, that your principles are so loose and unsettled. You will see my honesty in saying so when you find that, objecting to the surplice, as I do, on Protestant grounds, I yet warn you against making any change because you may discover that your parishioners are against it. You have no idea, Mr Walton, what inroads Radicalism, as they call it, has been making in this neighbourhood. It is quite dreadful. Everybody, down to the poorest, claiming a right to think for himself, and set his betters right! There’s one worse than any of the rest—but he’s no better than an atheist—a carpenter of the name of Weir, always talking to his neighbours against the proprietors and the magistrates, and the clergy too, Mr Walton, and the game-laws; and what not? And if you once show them that you are afraid of them by going a step out of your way for THEIR opinion about anything, there will be no end to it; for, the beginning of strife is like the letting out of water, as you know. _I_ should know nothing about it, but that, my daughter’s maid—I came to hear of it through her—a decent girl of the name of Rogers, and born of decent parents, but unfortunately attached to the son of one of your churchwardens, who has put him into that mill on the river you can almost see from here.” “Who put him in the mill?” “His own father, to whom it belongs.” “Well, it seems to me a very good match for her.” “Yes, indeed, and for him too. But his foolish father thinks the match below him, as if there was any difference between the positions of people in that rank of life! Every one seems striving to tread on the heels of every one else, instead of being content with the station to which God has called them. I am content with mine. I had nothing to do with putting myself there. Why should they not be content with theirs? They need to be taught Christian humility and respect for their superiors. That’s the virtue most wanted at present. The poor have to look up to the rich”— “That’s right, grannie! And the rich have to look down on the poor.” “No, my dear. I did not say that. The rich have to be KIND to the poor.” “But, grannie, why did you marry Mr Oldcastle?” “What does the child mean?” “Uncle Stoddart says you refused ever so many offers when you were a girl.” “Uncle Stoddart has no business to be talking about such things to a chit like you,” returned the grandmother smiling, however, at the charge, which so far certainly contained no reproach. “And grandpapa was the ugliest and the richest of them all—wasn’t he, grannie? and Colonel Markham the handsomest and the poorest?” A flush of anger crimsoned the old lady’s pale face. It looked dead no longer. “Hold your tongue,” she said. “You are rude.” And Miss Gladwyn did hold her tongue, but nothing else, for she was laughing all over.