Faith was not with us now, nor did she return till hay-time. She had gone home to her father at the vicarage at Low Moor, but not without a promise to return in the summer. And about that time too, Soldier Jack became slack in his attendance at Powle Moor, tho' abating nothing in his respect for Mr. Webster. He had been away for the week-end, having said nothing of his intentions, but it turned out he had been to Low Moor to see Faith and her father, and after this Jack began to go, in a rather shame-faced way at first, to Church. I asked him what was the reason of this right-about face. "Well, yo' see, Ben," he explained, "th' service at th' Church is more reg'lar like an' more constitutional." "As how?" "Well, yo' see, I'm a soldier, an' aw believe i' discipline." "Yo' broke it often enough, bi all accounts," I ventured to remind him. "Na, Ben, no back reckonin'! Yo' mun consider that aw wer' young then an' lawless. Aw'n sown mi wild oats nah, an' settled down an' aw begin to see that law an' order's a very guid thing, an' authority mun be respected." "Well, cannot yo' respect it as much at th' Powle as at th' Church?" "Now, aw cannot; an' yo cannot, nother. Yo' see yo're dissenters at th' Powle, an' heresy an' schism an' rebellion against constituted authority are i' th' air, so to speak, on Powle Moor. Yo're all Republicans at' heart up yonder, an' aw'll tell yo', another thing, if there'd been no dissenters there they'd ha' been no Luds, an' George Mellor 'd noan ha' danced out th' world on nowt." "But Faith Booth were Church an' yet she went to th' Powle while she wer' wi' us, an' had a class there into th' bargain." "Faith's a woman," said Soldier, "an' women ha' no sense o' principle. She wer' your guest, an' wouldn't pain yo' by going elsewheer. That's what yo' call nat'ral politeness, an' we should be none the worse i' Sloughit for a little more on it. But what we're talkin' on now is a matter o' th' head not a matter o' th' heart, an' i' matters o' th' head a woman's nowt to go by. Yo' shud hear her father, th' owd vicar at Low Moor!" "Oh! he's yo'r text, is he?" "He put it i' this way. Th' Church o' Christ is an army--the Church militant, he called it. Th' king, God bless him, is th' head o' th' Church, jus' same as he's th' head o' th' army. Th' Archbishops is commanders-in-chief, th' Bishops is generals, the Rectors an' Vicars is colonels an' captains, an' Curates is th' lieutenants." "And what of corporals and sergeants?" I asked. "Th' vicar's warden, to be sure," said Jack promptly, "an' just yo' see if aw dunnot live to be vicar's warden afore aw dee o' old age: an' if yo' want to speer further into it, th' Collect an' th' Liturgy is th' Orders o' th' day an' the surplice an' hood's nobbud a uniform. So theer!" And Jack looked at me triumphantly. "An' wheer do th' Dissenters come in then?" I asked.